


Sparkbound

by StarlightCaptivator



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Camp Nanowrimo, Gen, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 32,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptfic for Camp Nanowrimo 2015. Ratings, warnings and pairings are in each chapter. The chapter names are the prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Organics & Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Strongly Implied Hound/Mirage  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: G1

 

He was a believer in Primus almost passively back on Cybertron, but here on this small mudball in some remote part of the galaxy Hound was at home in Primus' arms. The sheer variance of life almost overwhelmed his sensor suite with divine ecstasy when he had time to really just  _be_  in it. More and more he was using his leave time to better explore Earth and watch her creatures interact, both big and small. They didn't have things like anacondas and mosquitoes and daffodils on Cybertron.

 

His fellow Autobots - his friends and comrades turned family had noticed his more frequent vanishings from base, his poorly hid reluctance to come back from those long scouting missions that took him to places like Bermuda, the Rockies, the tundra. Primus was so alive in his heart, and this made for a very deep and private devotion. It came to be his love for this planet became so much so that he slowly withdrew, and otherwise occupied himself during the meetings in which the other Autobots would discuss the repair of the Ark and the time projected for them to return to the planet of their birth for good. He didn't want to go back.

 

When that thought thread first popped up, it initialized an ugly little slow burn of envy right in his spark. For all intents and purposes, it had appeared to him so far that a good number of the organic creatures on this planet took it for granted.

 

It took him a couple months of processing and some time downloading history files to realize that they were an intrinsic part of the system they inhabited. The recycling process reminded him of Cybertron in some ways, though with more potential for a wider spread of things out the other side.

 

Hound mourned the fact that he couldn't process the systems first hand and down close, like the humans did.

 

Eventually, Optimus Prime pulled him aside to talk to him about his off-duty behavior and he spilled only as much as he could bear without tearing out his spark chamber and offering it to his leader. It was a little cathartic to gain some validation in reply - Optimus was frank with him about the fact that he would have to go back with everyone else.

 

This didn't mean he'd never be able to visit and stay a while though. Prime was willing to give permission for such after the war, as long as the Earth governments did too.

 

This doubled Hound's enthusiasm almost overnight, and this did not go unnoticed.

 

Huffer and Gears' jabs didn't so much as register as a scuff on his plating.

 

He gently declined Ratchet's offer to take a look at his emotional data stream for bugs.

 

Mirage quietly disapproved of his zeal, but he always had been a true lover of Cybertron. Ah well. Hound couldn't satisfy him on all fields all the time.

 

The important thing was that he felt Primus here, he could  _really_  feel him - and that gave him no pause in his fight to keep this holy organic place safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, The ever magnanimous C_A is my beta for this. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>    
>  [Here's my prompt list!](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/private/117307336085/tumblr_nncgeoFTOP1r0ujbu)


	2. Autobots & Decepticons- Neutral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Non-Graphic death, canon typical violence  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOC

Some parts, Taps cleaned up and sold as-is - gun metal grey and relieved of any pertinent identifying features.

Others - usually the better quality ones too mangled to identify as a mech anymore got melted down for his own upkeep.

 The rest he tried to do the best he could to lay to some sort of rest.

 Sometimes, some officer or older mech would show up at his door for his services and it would almost be like it was before the war started.

 Most of the time it was for his skills... his  _function_  as a mechaforensic pathologist, and the whole time he worked the clientèle would cajole him about joining their faction over the other.

 He despised them both in his advancing years.

 It was only when the bots showed up on his door with a true need did his cynicism fade back some.

 He never directed the funerary ceremony himself - he had never been trained in it, but it was the preparation and care that mattered to these most important of clients.

 Sometimes it was a cosmetic patch job or a facial reconstruction that he performed, but as the war had picked up a new morbid little trend had come into vogue.

 He very gently ground the broken spark chamber in front of him into a fine dust before carefully putting it into a small decorative bottle usually used for someone's inner energon offering.  The deliveries of these bottles was pits easier than having to move a body, safer too since the bottles didn't have insignia on them.

 

 ("Care to explain why you've got an Autobot soldier in your holding bay,  _neutral?_ ")

 ("I'm a funerary and forensics mech. His conjunx asked me to prepare his body according to their beliefs. Here, look.")

 ("This identification is expired.")

 ("Well, it's pretty difficult to get stuff like this renewed when everyone in the old certification department is dead.")

 

The Decepticons were almost worse on him in these situations, and there was more than one occasion when he was pressing the limits of his speed to get away from a rust storm of plasma fire. He wasn't built for speed.

 The absolute worst ones were cross-factional romances, and he had a strict no-delivery policy on that one. He had too large a frame to frag around trying to be stealthy.

 At least he was paid well for those jobs, and well-paid he better be because he wasn't about to be caught in the middle of some idiot's fraternization charges.

 Primus help him, _at least he was paid well._

 With his job being what it is, Taps was always a forward thinking mech. He had purchased a good store of energon rations when things started to very obviously go downhill where the life of the planet was involved. Soon after that he had stopped accepting shanix as currency.

 He had been relatively more comfortable in recent years, with a new client asking for t-cogs in exchange for good quality energon. He got a certain amount per undamaged cog. It wasn't his business what his shadowy client did with them, and he didn't care to find out.

 

Privately he assumed that they were used in some nefarious scientific study somewhere.

 Maybe the Autobots wanted to stop being cannon fodder.

 Maybe the Decepticons wanted an easier method of breaking prisoners.

 

Presently, Taps had finished grinding the chamber into dust. It didn't fill the whole bottle like ones of this size usually did, but he did what he could with the broken bits this bot's Conjunx Endura could find.

  He labeled and sealed the bottle and murmured a reflexive prayer to Primus as he tucked it away into his subspace.

 Part of him hoped he would live to see the end of this war of ideology, though it wasn’t like much would change in his daily life.

 It didn't when he had started.

 Same slag, different cycle.

 He'd still be used for his function whether he wanted to or not.

 

Taps thought for a moment back to his last assistant before the war had started in earnest and people started picking sides. The little bot had been a small emergency vehicle who pressed against his function to do the work Taps had reluctantly trained him in. He had said that Taps had been sparked with an over clocked cynicism drive before speeding off with two femmes that Taps assumed were his Amica Endurae.

 That was the last he had seen of him.

 The young trio probably all got themselves slagged shortly after joining their faction.

 His struts groaned softly as he stood up and stretched; he flared out his interlocking armor meant to keep out corpse born diseases so his protoform underneath could get a little more circulation.

 Perhaps he felt a  _little_  defensive still about those parting words... and the ones directly preceding them - in which he had been called a coward. Taps was many things, but this old mech was certainly  _not_  a coward.

 A grumbling exvent escaped before Taps could stop himself.

 Most of his past military service was the business of classified archival drives that had likely been destroyed at this point, thanks to this most recent conflict. The rest should have been obvious though. His designation since then was  _Taps_  for Primus' sake.

 After making sure his armor got resettled right, Taps got to cleaning up his workstation, grumbling about likely long dead aft-for-head young'uns.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is especially spacey for some reason. Why? It is a mystery. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Home, Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Hound/Mirage  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: G1  
> Characters: Mirage

 

 

Dubai, New York, Hong Kong - These were Mirage's favorite cities.

 Any mission headed for one of these three locations sent a push of excitement right into the noblemech's spark, and Mirage chomped at the bit for assignments in these areas. He enjoyed taking drives around these populated places, and preened privately at the attention he got.

 It was like his own little piece of the towers had come back to him.

 Ooh, how he missed his home planet.

 He missed his apartments looking out over glittering buildings around and below, the plush berth and myriad entertainment options both at home and abroad.

 He knew that those buildings were burned out rubble now, nothing left of a previous life's luxuries and comfort. It was the idea of rebuilding and having that possibility of comfort around him that gave him more hope.

  The rest of his cohort just appeared to be generally amused with his feelings and thoughts on the matter of coming home, and while it did bother him on some level, at the same time he could see how his behavior could appear to be humorous... or desperate.

 Dubai was the best for tower viewing out of all the large cities on Earth. Not to mention those highways - a speedster could get used to such an expansive area to burn rubber. It was his favorite patrol now that a certain pair of Lamborghinis had been banned from the United Arab Emirates indefinitely, much more peaceful - less potential intergalactic incident territory.

 Aside from the salty sea air, which had the unfortunate effect of needing to go over components with a fine-toothed comb during wash time, this place had all the external hallmarks a mech who liked the finer things could have to feel at home.

 He looked forward to taking his love-mate back and treating him to those finer things, asking him to become his Conjunx Endura the towers way.

 

Mirage pulled off the road to get in position to wait for his pick up. He changed back to his root mode and observed the setting sun with the smallest hint of a frown. There was a small problem in getting Hound the life he deserved though, an obstacle, one might say.

 That obstacle being Hound himself.

 Hound was enamored with Earth in a way that was beginning to worry Mirage. At this point he was splitting his off time about half with Mirage and half out rolling in the dirt. It used to be a lot more with Mirage and a lot less out in the organic world.

 He half wondered if he was to blame for such a shift in the idea of home in his lover, having again whispered to him recently how glad he would be when they were back on Cybertron - in a big berth with proper metal mesh to better hold their chassis after an interfacing session like the one they had shared.

 Hound had frowned softly at him, and pulled back from his grip to look him in the eye and defend the Earthen materials.

 Mirage had assumed at first that the defensiveness had come from their caste differences before the war, and the possibility hung over his head that Hound might not feel suited to be bonded to him.

 He had discarded that line of thought after a closer observation and subtle conversations in the following weeks brought the idea to his mind that Hound felt comfortable on this planet.

 So comfortable that he didn't want to leave.

 

Hound's idea of home had changed, while Mirage's spark remained with Cybertron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes along with Organic's & Religion. I just can't not make some ship not sorta tragic, I guess. :Db
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Flier, Aliens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Canon typical violence  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOCs

Freefall would give his left turbine to get a new assignment. No amount of begging or pleading would make his CO change her mind though, just like none would change his previous one's about sending him here. Bah, spark sisters.

So what if he had dumped a couple of pigment bombs on the support team during a particularly slow day? It had helped to raise morale, didn't it? And even if it compromised the camouflage of the ground team - and that was a mighty big if, it wasn't like there were any Decepticons within megamiles of them.

But apparently that was his "last chance" and he had to go "learn some responsibilty".

This job was just as mind numbing as the last one though, and all the Decepticons that were on this planet did was stand around and talk, and occasionally chase the native life forms off their base.

It was some stupid pseudo stand-off, with the Autobots on one end of this boring planet, and the Deceptions nearly perfectly on the other end, bisecting the territory between them.

Worse than that, this planet was in some Primus forsaken sector of the universe that wasn't even fully mapped. The nearest place to get honest high-grade from an actual bar was a so far away that by the time you got there you barely had time for one drink before you had to catch the ship back. His only solace in that was that the Decepticons would have the same issue.

The very worst thing about this planet though, worse than the lack of action and entertainment had to be the local life forms, without a doubt.

His processor came to a screeching halt whenever he encountered a group of the tiny creatures, ever since he had elected to a short altmode recharge nap in the sun one day and woke up with them all over him.

He had let out the most undignified screech and transformed back to his root mode; he kicked on his engines and sent dozens - no, hundreds of them sprawling off onto the ground. They shook tiny organic servos at him and picked themselves up.

That had probably been the quickest he hit the outer atmosphere out of jet mode.

His armor rattled out a shiver - he could still feel their scaley little servos all over him.

One time, he had to take an aerial video capture over one of their villages during a festival to keep an eye out for Decepticons who wanted to make trouble. When he got back to base and uploaded the images into the enhancer, he purged his fuel tanks right there on to the floor.

Somehow the pitbeasts were shedding their protoforms and it was one of the worst things Freefall ever had to see ever. They then gathered up the left over organic mesh and burned the pile of it, dancing and singing in their hissy little language and drinking their organic highgrade.

Freefall had terrible recharge for cycles, he kept seeing himself strip out of his own protoform and toss it into a smelter.

Of course his aft-head unit mates had poked fun at him for his fears, pointing out that even if the organics could get into their base - the entrance of which was a large pair of sliding doors hidden behind rock slabs - the worst they could do is get squished under his pedes, and that would just mean having to go over himself carefully in the wash racks to get out the goo.

The second of the three fliers on his unit, a stealth bomber who introduced himself as Highflier (but that everyone else had nicknamed Stab), told him at least he should be glad these were not flying organics. His engines had never felt clean after that.

"Hey Stab, wasn't that planet the same place you got your designation?" The CO had asked after the plane had recounted the horror of organic goo all in his engines.

"Well, Sir, as I keep telling you, my actual designation is Highflier but ye-"

Their CO had turned to Freefall, optics bright with glee as she cut off Stab. "Let me tell ya, rookie, I wouldn't've believed it if I wasn't on the ground under Stab's unit at the time to see it. He and his wingmates were made by a seeker patrol because of those flying organics - the goo spray pretty much gave their position away. Stab here executed a barrel roll to avoid a second flock of the stupid things and BAM." She slammed her fists down on the desk in front of her. "His wing takes this fragger out mid-dive nosecone to wing and he just gets lodged there."

"So he has dead Decepticon slagger on one wing and just as he almost has it off the second lunges at him while he's mid transformation and WHAM!" She slaps open palms on the table this time. Freefall startles, caught on every word of her story. "The 'Con impales himself on Stab's other wing. So here he's got suddenly two dead seekers to ornament his pretty wings and the third tries to frag off, but one of the femmes in my unit was anti-aircraft so she took care of him. That is why Stab is called Stab." She sat back in a satisfied manner after that.

Off to the side, Stab grumbled to himself and face-palmed over his battle mask.

Freefall dreamt that recharge about small flying organics that would take his protoform off and run through his engines with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another foray into silly TFOCs for your reading pleasure. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's a couple of headshots!](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/private/117313692905/tumblr_nnckxtqn1f1r0ujbu)


	5. Finials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: ?????  
> Warnings: Whirl, Crackery  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Whirl, Ratchet

Whirl was in a good mood - too good. Ultra Magnus was suspicious,  _worried_  even.

Whirl had just spent the last few shift cycles before today sniping at the mechs around him, and causing trouble low-key enough not to get him tossed in the brig - but certainly enough that Magnus could see the wild optics of those tormented who were certainly weighing their own consequences.

This behavior was coming in cycles, with this trouble-making suddenly halted by a disturbingly well-behaved mania, followed by a period of calm. After that, Whirl slowly descended back to his usual ways.

Magnus answered an internal comm ping from Red Alert.

=He's on the move, Magnus. I've got eyes on him now, but the video bugs in the habsuite are still booting up.=

Magnus sent an acknowledgment ping back, and wrapped up his current bout of paperwork before making his way out and towards Red Alert with a quickness. For his own peace of mind and that of the security officer's, Magnus wanted to make sure he could witness whatever deviousness Whirl was up to. They'd probably both have some peace of mind if they could finally toss him in the brig.

Magnus got to Red's office just in time to watch Whirl get to his habsuite door. The heliformer paused outside it, and looked both ways down the hall before lifting a claw and quickly keying in the code. He quickly shut the door behind him in a way that couldn't be more suspicious.

Red switched the cameras over to the internal ones, but they just gave a countdown sequence for the video feed.

"Here you are, my little electro-parsnip~" came Whirl's voice from the audio feeds. "And here  _I_  am, ready for a good hard  _~frag~"_  Magnus couldn't help his sneer. Did Whirl steal a piece of equipment from somewhere for  _that_? It wouldn't be the fir-

"Crass as always, are we?"

Magnus' optics popped as Red's vocalizer audibly reset. They gaped at each other, the same rising horror mirrored from small bot to big.

"....was that  _Ratchet??"_  Red Alert choked out, and with horror bordering on sheer terror he looked back at the countdown - it still had about a klik and a half to go before the boot sequence was finished.

"Let's not waste time, Doc bot~" Whirl singsonged through the speakers, and Red thought he might purge his tanks as the soft clanking sounds of two chassis adjusting rang out over the speakers.

"Hold  _still,_  Whirl. I know you're excited, but I can't do this effectively if you don't  _relax_."

"Red. RED, can we stop the cameras? We shouldn't - we can't!  _ **Please, Red Alert."**_ Magnus found himself unable to moderate his tone.

Red Alert looked back at him, if only to look away from the inevitable. "I'm sorry." He said, voice nearly a whisper with a timbre usually reserved to those facing their own mortality. "I'd have to take out the cameras themselves. We... we're too late."

Magnus considered a ship wide alert, something big enough to draw them both out of the habsuite, but as quickly as he considered this a numbness set in. He could never abuse his power like that.

They had constructed their berth and now they had to recharge in it, Primus help them.

The two of them braced for the worst as the cameras blinked on and showed the two bots and...

 

Well, Ultra Magnus wasn't exactly sure what they were doing, but it certainly wasn't what he expected.

He leaned in closer to the screen to get a better look, and reset his optics to see if he could confirm what he was looking at here. It really looked to him like the two were... cuddling?

Ratchet appeared to be petting the homicidal heliformer, paying special attention to the single antennae on the right side of his head.

Quiet now, the two voyeurs could hear a pleased hum of Whirl's engines over the speakers, and with each passing moment more tension drained from his body.

 He held Ratchet's free servo in his claw.

"What the slag are we looking at here?" Red asked in monotone after a few kliks of this behavior.

Magnus regarded the scene in front of them for a moment. He chose to ignore Red's bad language. "Well, if we hadn't had probable cause, then some brig time for the two of us." He answered blandly, voice firmly back into 'Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord' mode. "But as it is, we're looking at a moment we should probably cease looking at."  _And an endless source of misery for my audials, if Drift ever finds out about this_. Magnus added privately. "Can the cameras be shut down now?"

Far calmer, Red Alert nodded as he turned back to tap at a keyboard. "Yeah. They shut down a lot like they boot up, but they'll be down soon....I take it this is one of those 'Between you and me' things." Though posed as a question, he spoke it more as a statement.

Ultra Magnus put his servos on his hips, and nodded slowly. "Yes, it is. I'll see you later, Red Alert. I have... things... to do." He beat a stiff retreat after that.

 

After about another hour, Ratchet knocked gently on the top plane of Whirl's head to draw him out of the light recharge he had fallen into. Whirl focused a hazy and not serious cyclopean glare onto Ratchet.

"Can I pay you for another session and just keep ya here? I'm comfy."

Ratchet huffed and picked Whirl's big blue chassis off his own. "Nope. I have work to do in the med bay. Yes, more important work than being your personal masseuse." He stood, and stretched out. "And quit the blabber about money; I do this because Rung said it would be a good part of your therapy."

Whirl made the most peculiar 'pfft' noise before stretching out on his berth. "Your loss, doc bot. Now get outta here so I can recharge."

Ratchet rolled his optics as he let himself out of Whirl's room. "Same time next orn then," he murmured, making his way back out into the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no explanation for this. I guess something just came over me.
> 
> Thanks for reading.....whatever this is.


	6. Caste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Canon typical violence  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOCs

 

Okay, so Freefall hadn't realized that the reasons why some bot could dislike another could be as simple as construction until this point. It didn't really make any sense.

 How was he supposed to control the fact that he was a cold constructed made-to-order?

 As far as he could tell, he couldn't have.

 So why the Pit would Skygate have an issue with that?

 "Some bots are just like that, unfortunately." Stab had murmured to him over their evening energon the first time he asked. Stab - or Highflier rather (ironically, he had threatened to stab Freefall if he kept calling him that) - ran down the differences between those that were forged, and those that were cold constructed. He and Skygate had both been forged and they had sparks taken from hot spots found on Cybertron. Freefall had been made to order for a certain situation, and that was why his name was like it was.

 "So being called Freefall of The Ten Blackened Craters really gives it away then, doesn't it?" He asked, rolling his straw between his thumb and forefinger.

 "It can." St - Highflier replied, looking especially thoughtful with his battle mask off. "Though I've been meaning to ask you - why Freefall?"

 Freefall sat up straighter right away, wings doing a twitchy little dance of the guilty, and likely in his case - the guilty who was waiting for his prank to pay off. "Why Freefall what?" He parroted back.

 Highflier regarded him for a moment with an optic ridge raised before speaking again. "Why the  _designation_  Freefall? What was your first one?" Instantly, the younger bot's wings soothed back down to a more neutral standing.

 "Oh, Freefall  _is_  my first designation. My first CO gave it to me!" His optics brightened a little, in a way that made Highflier think this was a good memory that Freefall was recalling.

  "We only had our issue numbers at the time, though the others in my batch were coming up with their names already. I couldn't think of one, but I was trying really hard to, y'know? " Freefall had the good graces to look sheepish.

 "I might've been thinking about it a little  _too much_  because next thing I knew we were taking our first flight and I hadn't paid attention to the special direction at  _all_. Partway through a maneuver, my engines stalled out and I started, heh - free falling." Highflier controlled his expression remarkably well for the story given, though he was seriously starting to understand the reasoning behind his younger peer's posting here.

 "So my wingmates were panicking and I was panicking and my CO gets over the com and barks 'FREEFALL, YOU GET YOUR AFT INTO YOUR ROOT MODE AND GET YOUR PRIMUS FORSAKEN THRUSTERS ACTIVATED  **RIGHT NOW** , ELSE I'LL MAKE YOU SCRAPE WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR OWN AFT OFF THAT RUNWAY,  _ **AM I CLEAR??' "**_  Freefall imitated the bot's Polyhexan accent softly, but the intent in his words came in strong. "So the name Freefall stuck, as did my very first demerit."

 "You really  _are_  lucky to be alive, aren't you?" Highflier mumbled dryly, but this phrase just ended up puffing up the young jet.

 "The battle wasn't nothing my unit couldn't handle." He said confidently in turn. "What about you, S-Highflier? What was your first battle like?"

 Highflier's angular wings canted downwards as he took on a grim smile. "Honestly, Freefall? Terrifying."

 "Skygate and I are both academy trained, you know? One big wing of fighters and the bombers they protected. We were all so cocksure before the battle, ready to slag some Decepticreeps to kingdom come. We got in the air, and it didn't even matter anymore. Who was in our family units or how wealthy our creators and mentors were didn't matter anymore. Pit, the fact that we were supposed to be a special unit didn't matter anymore. " Freefall settled into a more solemn expression as Highflier continued.

 "Two of my wing mates were cut down nearly right out the gate. They didn't train us for that. By the time the battle was done - we won it, by the way - a quarter of those newly minted academy fliers had been permanently offlined." Highflier looked down into the remains of his energon ration, his grim smile had just morphed into a grim expression. "I'd say there may be about seven of us now, from that class? It's kinda funny, war often seems to strip away those old social morays."

 The two of them sat in silence for a few moments before Freefall spoke up. "Why didn't it for Skygate?"

 Highflier glanced at the door before he spoke again, as if the subject of their conversation might walk through the door. He wouldn't though - any time Freefall wanted to take his energon in with his wingmates, Skygate always excused himself before the younger flier could reach them.

 "I don't really know for sure." Highflier answered, "But I think it has in large part to do with his life before the war, and the rest has to do with this war at large." He sat up a little more to rummage in his subspace pocket before he pulled out a small holoframe. It powered up, and Highflier handed it over.

 It displayed five smiling and shiny young bots with fresh Autobrands, three big stealth bombers in back and two smaller aerial fighter jets in front. Even with the outdated paint jobs, Freefall could pick out his wing mates in the picture.

 "That was taken at the academy, the week before our graduation ceremony. After that image capture was taken we all retired to Skygate's mentor's apartment for some vintage high grade and to pat ourselves on the back for how much good we would all do in defense of Cybertron." His words took a bit of an edge.

 "My creators were government contractors, and so before my academy days, I got to take in what it was like to meet bots from many walks of life...Skygate's mentor was a politician, who was... in favor... of the functionalist ideas of the time. "

 Things clicked slowly into place for Freefall. "So he doesn't like me because of some stupid old ideas some old dead rich politician had?" Highflier winced just slightly. "That is one of the dumbest things to ever have assaulted my processor."

 "So I wouldn't be thought of as 'important' in Cybertronian society during the war, so what? That's still a pretty slagged up reason to be a glitch to someone, 'Flier."

 Highflier's plating gave just the slightest rattle at Freefall's more acidic tone, but he didn't rise to any of the younger plane's posturing. "I  _know_ , but that's just how he is. The old caste is important to him. You asked, I answered. Cool your thrusters." The last part came out more as an order than a request.

 Freefall's wings slowly twitched back down from their aggressive position in a forced, stilted manner. He swiped up his energin cube and chugged down the remaining fuel in a few gulps. "Fine.  _Fine_. Skygate doesn't like me - but I'm going to  _make_  him like me."

 With that, Freefall stood up with his empty cube and stomped over to the receptacle for it. He fumbled it before righting himself and putting it in right, and under the newly acquired attention of everyone in mess - and with his wings angled in embarrassment - he stalked out.

 Burning with a bit of second hand embarrassment for his wingmate, Highflier vented out long, and allowed himself to facepalm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't get enough of these assholes. I have one more prompt finished that features this little group so far! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	7. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Canon typical violence  
> Continuity: Rescue Bots/Transformers Prime  
> Characters: Boulder, Bulkhead, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Heatwave, Chase, Blades, Burns family

Luckily, it was a quiet day in Griffin rock when Boulder had his attack.

He was down in the bunker with the rest of the rescue team when he suddenly let out a pained metallic groan. He hunched over his easel and took hold of the edge of his recent work in progress, crushing the canvas in his attempt to find something to steady himself.

Both Blades and Chase jumped to their pedes, but Heatwave got there first, having been working on his self-defense, and therefore standing. He took hold of Boulder at the shoulder to try and help steady him, and his voice was joined in a cacophonous uprising of the others - both Cybertronian and human - in concern and alarm.

Boulder couldn't manage to clear his head enough to understand his teammates, as  _pain_  pure and simple pulsed through his spark in heady waves. The last thing he perceived before he was plunged into darkness felt very much like his spark was trying to fly out of his chest.

 

"Rescue bots, I apologize, but we can not spare our medic right now - one of our own has been gravely injured," Optimus Prime said somberly over the vid screen. "I'm glad to hear Boulder's spark readings have stabilized though, and I expect you to keep sending his status updates to us by shift. Was there anything else?"

The other bots glanced at each other before Chase reset his vocalizer and stepped forwards. Optimus' eyes drew down to him.

"Sir, if I may?" Chase asked, raising as servo just a bit. Prime nodded in a motion for him to continue. "I wanted to ask, were you aware of any fraternization between our teams, sir? Ah... Excuse me.  _Additional_  Fraternization."

Optimus Prime raised an optic ridge, for just a moment he glanced at Blades - who was very firmly staring at his pedes, faceplate heated. He looked back to Chase. "Not that I am aware. Was there something that gave you the thought that there  _could_  be, Chase?"

Chase had the good graces to look a little uncomfortable. "Well, it's Boulder, Sir. During the times he's been out of stasis, he's been asking for someone - this mech's designation matches one of your team's. 'Bulkhead' was his name?"

Optimus Prime appeared to be processing this idea a moment. "...I understand." He said, after a few tense kliks. "Thank you for alerting me to these thoughts. Optimus Prime out." The screen went dark.

 

Bulkhead was slow to come online. When he did, it was the dead of night and aside from the homey whirls of the machinery around, the base was silent.

Primus, he hurt everywhere.

He slowly onlined his optics, and after a few resets he went through his limited range of motion to see his surroundings.

Optimus sat next to the mediberth he was sprawled out on, arms crossed and helm lowered - likely in a light recharge.

"Heya, Boss bot." His voice came out weak, but it did the trick and Optimus was immediately at attention - which was focused on him. He was silent a moment, probably pinging Ratchet through his internal comm, but then he spoke.

"Bulkhead." He sounded as if a huge weight had been taken off of his shoulders. "You gave us quite the scare, my friend." He put a servo on Bulkhead's shoulder just as Ratchet appeared and hurried himself to his other side.

"Good to see you haven't gone offline permanently, Bulkhead." Aside from the weariness that would be apparent in any of them just out of recharge, Ratchet's voice reflected a longer fatigue.

"...How long have I been out?"

 

Optimus asked the question a few days later, after Miko had gone home for the night. Optimus had asked to talk to him alone, and had a far too serious look on his face when he broached the topic. Directly following, he was guiltily glad for Bulkhead's weakness as he heaved out quiet, static-laced laughter.

Bulk wiped a lubricant tear from his optic. "A Conjunx Endura? No, I don't have one. " He breathed out, and pressed the servo that was on his face to his chest. "Hoo, chest still hurts a little. Why d'ya ask?"

Optimus couldn't help but smile just the slightest bit, but his expression reverted quickly. "I wondered, as during the time where your life was in danger - Ratchet reports that your spark nearly sputtered out - more than once."

This quickly snuffed out Bulkhead's mirth. "... You wanted to know about alerting next of? Well, I only have a brother- but I haven't heard from him since before we left Cybertron."

Optimus looked at him dubiously. "You've got a brother? This is the first I've heard of that."

Bulkhead sat himself up just a little more. "Yeah, a spark brother. Last I saw him he was going off on patrol with his rescue force. It was before the war really spread in earnest. His team went MIA, but he must be alive since I am." His optics brightened. "Slag, he must've been hurt went I was - I hope he's okay."

Optimus put the pieces together quickly. He adjusted his servos in his hands in a slow fidget.  "...Do you still have the confidential memory partition from your time in the Wreckers? "

Bulkhead regarded him warily, unsure at the sudden apparent subject change. "I do. Haven't had the time to reformat anything. You gonna tell me something that needs to go in there?"

Optimus nodded. "We need to talk about Rescue Force Sigma 17."

 

Boulder came out of stasis feeling far better. His heads up display gave him a full feed of optimally functioning systems, and he onlined his optics. Blades was putting in the opening protocols for his pod, and he could see Chase and Heatwave not too far beyond standing with the humans.

When he was sure that he was steady on his pedes he made his way to his comrades and through the deluge of questions about his health. When people began to disperse, Heatwave told him that he was to have a private call to Optimus Prime sometime in the near future. Boulder didn't get the chance to dwell on this, as the alarm went off and the team raced off to the newest emergency to plague Griffin Rock.

The day was long and the rescue and the clean up that ensued were taxing, so when the bots and the Burnses had returned that night, many opted for a light refuel before recharge. At a nod from Heatwave, Boulder made his way to the control room and shut himself inside. After a message to Prime's base settled in for a wait - which lasted all of two breems before the screen flickered on.

"Boulder, good evening." Optimus intoned over the comm. Boulder noticed right away that Optimus' surroundings weren't as they usually were, and he had a looking-down vantage point on the Prime as opposed to the large bust view of him they had usually, when the entire team got a call.

"Evening, sir. Heatwave said you needed to talk to me in private? I've fully recovered." His voice had a touch of uncertainly to it with the situation being as strange as it was. Optimus Prime seemed to glance over his shoulder for a moment before focusing back onto Boulder.

"It has come to my attention that our personnel files could use some updating." Prime's voice was a mock serious over a layer of mirth. "Of course, that'll have to wait. I have someone here I think you'd like to see."

His spark jumped with heady excitement as a familiar silver and green frame not unlike his own stepped into view. "Bulkhead!"

 

Optimus excused himself after a few minutes of listening to the brothers talk - at first with stumbling and unsure words that quickly fell into a comfortable repartee and a constant and radiant joy from Bulkhead's EM field. He came back after a couple hours and the twin mechs were still at it, sharing stories back and forth with each other. Boulder spoke mostly about Griffin Rock and his adventures in rescue there, while Bulkhead spoke with pride about his time in the Wreckers.

Neither of them realized Optimus was even there until he gave a reset of his vocalizer. They both settled down right away, and Bulkhead looked back at him.

"Heya boss-bot, time's up?" He asked giving him turbo-fox eyes as an unspoken plea for more time.

He made his way closer and regarded Boulder's near identical expression before setting his servo on his soldier's shoulder."I'm afraid so, Bulkhead - but I will make certain you two have the chance to speak again."

"Optimus?" Boulder spoke up, and Optimus looked back up to the screen. "Thank you for this - you've given us a precious gift."

Prime gave them a gentle smile that reached all the way up to his optics, glad he was able to reconstruct those bonds previously broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am an absolute sucker for fic in which Boulder and Bulkhead are brothers, so I could absolutely NOT resist. They look similar enough, and are just such sweeties that I couldn't just not. ♥
> 
> This takes place after Bulkhead is shot by Hardshell in Prime!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Struts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Confused one-sided Smokescreen/Starscream  
> Warnings: Robopuberty  
> Continuity: Transformer Prime  
> Characters: Smokescreen, Starscream

Smokescreen's attention was  _slightly_ misplaced.

Okay, maybe not just slightly. It was quite misplaced.

Fine - he was outright distracted.

Battle was the only place he could get glimpses of the subject at the forefront of his processors - and he made sure to fight with bravery up close enough and personal to see them again and again.

The others didn't seem to notice, even with a couple vocal slip ups that Froid would have likely  _loved_  to analyze.

Smokey considered coming to Optimus Prime with his confused feelings and questions, but he wasn't sure he could survive the mortification of admitting such...  _base_  thoughts to his hero of all mechanisms.

His opportunity to speak about his fascination came, funnily enough, when he was captured by the Decepticons.

He had run his mouth a little and slipped a low-key insult in there, before there was a period of silence between the two Decepticons - Smokey assumed they were on internal comms. He spoke up.

"So what  _is_  with the high heels?"

Starscream looked over at him, looking at once offended that Smokescreen would refer to some part of anatomy using human terms and at once he knew what he meant.

"They're not  _high heels_ , Autobot imbecile - they're  _struts,"_   he graveled out at him with a glare as Knockout prepared his tools with a snicker. 

"And a ground pounder like you  _would_  have no idea about Seeker anatomy.  _These,"_  he tapped the edge of the medical berth Smokescreen was strapped to with the tip of his pede, "are so that when a Seeker like  _me_  wants to land on the neck of a pathetic Autobot like  _you_ , my legs won't be damaged in the process."

Yeah, the way his plating heated at that was  _waaaay_  inappropriate.

He needed to get out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no explanation for this one either. :|9 
> 
> It just sorta happened. That one comment Smokey made just wormed into my head somehow. 
> 
> I blame C_A.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Interspecies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Relationships: Elite Trine  
> Warnings: potential dubcon; nothing much happens  
> Continuity: G1  
> Characters: Elite Trine, Autobot Ensemble, Carly, Spike, Chip

"You are  _disgusting,_  Skywarp.  _D i s g u s t i n g."_   Starcream hissed half-heartedly at Skywarp, who was lounging on his berth in their shared quarters. Thundercracker had his face in his hands, unwilling to show his face to either of the glitches he called his trinemates.

Skywarp scrunched up his face and snorted. "You're just jealous that you're not gettin' any outside of us, Screamer. I- " he motioned with his servo to his cockpit suggestively, "have been."

Thundercracker let out a hoarse, dry laugh. "No. Skywarp. No, he's not. He  _might_  be, if you had been fragging another Decepticon, but I suppose that's just too  _normal_  for you, isn't it?"

"I'm just telling you two - there's no overload like a one where you've got little servos all over your  _most delicate_  equiptment."

"Augh _. Aughhh._  You did  **not**  just say that. I did not hear you just say that."

"Don't get hysterical, Star. It was  _kinky_. Those Autobot fraggers get to have humans inside them all the time - I wanted to give it a try."

Starscream began a slow burn rant, the kind that started with 'They aren't Vosians' and would likely continue on louder about depravity and ground pounders if it wasn't for Thundercracker cutting in. He stood up and loomed over his cooler colored comrade.

"So let me get this straight, Skywarp. Correct me if I'm wrong. You snuck out of base this morning." Skywarp nodded so far, a leery and lewd grin plastering his faceplates. "You hid in a human hangar after displacing one of their aircraft -  _l_ _et a human inside you - "_  


"And it touched all the right levers and switches for a perfect pre-flight foreplay." Skywarp practically purred. "The other jets were different colors anyways, so it didn't matter I was there, and the maneuvers were amateur at best. I got to concentrate on those tiny servos on my  _throttle_. Primus, I'm gettin' hot again." Starscream's mouth hung open in horror as he kept talking, and Thundercracker had his face hidden again.

"I dropped like one hundred whole feet when I overloaded." He sighed happily. "Pure tactile overloads are so  _good."_  


Starscream flew back into a tirade about regulations and  _rules_  and the exact reason why no one was allowed to interface in the air on Vos. Skywarp obviously wasn't listening, and was starting to give their trine leader saliacious looks that would likely end up with him, if not both of them, in the berth.

Thundercracker's creator's voices echoed in his head from some time far past when he announced his intention to trine, and their dissaproval of him pairing up with an interface vid-star lept to the front of his processor. As Starscream's voice died down quickly, TC felt deft fingers skitter over his wing.

Well, he did get  _something_  out of this.

 

A battle and sometime later found the Autobots resting and recovering at the Ark. One of the Decepticons had attempted to kidnap Chip, but had been thwarted and subsequently soundly stomped by the efforts of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

Now, he discussed the event with Spike and Carly. "I can't be sure, but I think he was attempting - or wanted to attempt some sort of brainwashing on me. He kept going on about touching his flight panels to make some sort of interface go well."

Spike patted his shoulder, as Carly paced back and forth for a moment. "That could be possible, but as far as we know the only Decepticon with any sort of ability to get into anyone's head is  _Soundwave._  If they've figured out some way to get information through a hard-line connection of some design - we could be in trouble."

Spike grimaced at the idea. "We should go talk to Wheeljack and Ratch - they may be able to expand on that thought." Carly and Chip agreed, and they were soon in the crowded mess of the Ark, all up on the table that the engineer and medic were sharing with a few other mechs.

"...so we came to the conclusion that Skywarp was probably trying to brainwash Chip!" Spike finished, after a very quick run down of the humans' previous conversation. Wheeljack started to ramble on about the possibility of such an act when Carly spoke up, and her voice not only cut him off - but silenced him entirely.

"What does 'interfacing' mean to a Cybertronian?"

The room's conversation's halted instantly. Someone's energon ration hit their table as they coughed and sputtered.

"....Where did you hear about  _interfacing?"_  Ratchet asked, voice darkening a little bit. The children looked at him innocently, confused by his tone.

"Skywarp was talking about it, when he kidnapped me!" Chip piped up. "He was talking about him interfacing with me - that's why we wanted to ask you about the possibility of brainwashing."

Suddenly the entire atmosphere of the room changed. Wheeljack looked anywhere but them, and Ratchet muttered unintelligibly following a facepalm. Someone that suspiciously sounded like Prowl let out an awkward cough, while the Lamborghini twins muttered about an extra beat down for the black and purple seeker the next time they saw him. Bee and Blue both gaped at the humans and each other, faceplates heated. Optimus Prime appeared not to be listening at all, or functioning, even with the way he held perfectly still and stared at the wall as if it might  _move_  or something of the sort.

Carly put two and two together, and her expression slowly contorted into something between bemusement and disgust. "Oh... oh  _God._   It's a  _s_ _ex thing,_  isn't it?" Spike and Chip turned to look at her, expressions turning into horrified caricatures of their usual happy states. Chip was paling. "Skywarp was trying to have  _sex_  with you, Chip."

The next half hour found the Ark erupted into pandemonium, with horrified questions and attempts at explanation and an awkward atmosphere not often found outside of middle-school locker rooms. it escalated when a few of the Autobots - including one mortified Optimus Prime - mentioned that they had heard of mechanism-human fraternization before, and the room rose to a roar when Ironhide asked where on Unicron's spacious backside could he have heard about something like that.

It ended when a very flustered Optimus gave everyone a loud dismissal, and fled for some other area of the ship. Chip sat with his face in his hands a few minutes longer before moving towards Bumblebee to ask for a ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we actually _can_ blame this one on C_A, she gave me the prompt. 
> 
> (But I did have fun writing it. I laughed the whole time)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOCs

Freefall was becoming agitated as the solar cycles rolled by. His chronometer crept closer and closer to the start of the new vorn. It should be a time for preparing a celebration, having a break and getting pleasantly overcharged - but  _no._  He had drawn the short straw and got patrol shifts back to back.

It wasn't even like Skygate and Highflier were gonna party or anything. Plus, he was sure Skygate rigged that draw.

So Freefall found himself in the air near the end of the Vorn, wasting his energon on a useless patrol, when he could be wasting it raiding the supply closet for adhesive and using said adhesive to glue datapads to the ceilings of various habsuites.

He chuckled to himself at the thought, and cut a corner a little closer than he usually did on his route - to conserve energon, of course.

A few megamiles later, and this act of impulsive laziness paid off in a way that startled the slag out of the young flier. His sensors picked up some signals below - that did  _not_   belong to anyone in his unit or on base. Trusting his camouflage, he came in a little lower to get better readings.

His audio suite picked up conversation moments later.

"I tell ya, this is some slaggin' joke here. It's  _cycles_  away from the start of the Vorn, and here we are - hunting for some slag-sucking tiny organics who made off with our repair patches."

The second Decepticon let out a heavy exvent. "Why do dumb little organics need  _our_  repair patches for anyways? They're not even made of metal, and why the slag are we out looking for them? It's not like we ever use them."

"I guess the boss just wants to be sure we're ready for an attack at any time. Not that it would happen though. This planet hasn't seen  _any_  action."

"Hehe,  _you_  haven't seen any action."

"Shut up. What I mean is we don't give a frag about the Autobots, and they don't give a frag about us. The only reason  _we_  have a base on our end of the planet is because  _they_  have a base on their side, and - "

The second Decepticon cut off the first. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. The only reason we're here is because  _they_  are. We've gone over this before."

The first one crouched down for a moment, probably to check the tracks they were following. "You know what would be nice? If we could just... I dunno, cancel the war for a while. We could have our New-Vorn and not worry about Autobots blowing our afts up for a while before going back to it." He stood back up. "I just want to rest for a while, you know."

Freefall didn't realize what he was doing until wind was whistling past his audials in his alt-mode and he had cut his thrusters.

He really was pretty damn dumb.

Freefall internally cursed Primus for his inability to control his impulses as he landed with a hard grace in front of the two suddenly very terrified Decepticons, who trained their blasters on him right away - even as the ground shook from his landing. They rose as he did, blasters raised upwards as he towered over them. He slowly raised his arms.

He regarded them for a moment. Both were grounders - smaller warbuilds.

"Did you mean that?" He asked. "About 'canceling the war' and all that." He spoke clearly and kept his optics trained on them, ready to spool up his thrusters in case his stupidity caught up with him. He continued to speak.

"Cause I don't know how  _you_  two feel, but it's boring as watching paint peel out here. We could all use the rest." He shifted his stance from one pede to the other, and one of the Decepticon's optics flickered to his legs for a microklik. Freefall suppressed a smirk for a friendly smile before he slowly turned in a circle.

"Don't worry, I'm not armed. See?"

The two glanced at each other, likely talking over comms before they slowly lowered their weapons. "No funny business, Autobot," the Decepticon with the roving optics warned.

"No funny business." He agreed. "I'm Freefall, what're your designations?"

 

By the end of the cycle not only was Freefall's wing slagged off at him, not only was  _his_  CO slagged off at him, but the  _Decepticon_  CO was slagged off at him too! None of that changed that fact that there  _was_  a ceasefire called though. Once it was official, and the clerical mechs attending for both sides logged it - a tension seemed to rise from the shoulders all of the bots present. This New-Vorn had no place for factions, just Cybertronians.

The Decepticon CO had tried to worm his way into coming to see the base, and after sniping back and forth with the Autobot CO an agreement was made to see the  _outside_  of the bases only. This may be a ceasefire, but the war was far from over, and neither of them were stupid.

Once the other Autobots and Decepticons saw the slow way Freefall had fallen into a banter with Flux and Trench, the two Decepticons he had initially come across, they began to slowly intermingle. Awkward smalltalk happened at very first - comments about the weather or interesting armor mods, questions about home city-states and travels - he even saw Skygate speaking to a particularly shiny Decepticon. His CO and the Decepticon CO slowly began to discuss the thieving organics that so easily eluded them.

The next couple cycles passed by in a blur, and the eve of the New-Vorn found all of the Cybertronians of this little backwater world in one place. The Autobots, always having a large repair supply, brought enough repair patches to replenish the Decepticon's missing stock, and patrols became a lot more interesting with the sounds and sights of bots not feeling the need to conceal themselves.

A makeshift shelter was set up in the so-called neutral zone since the ceasefire was called and slowly it was filled with chairs and tables, and a couple of long benches. When the eve came, personal trinkets also decorated the area, as well as what appeared to be someone's home-made engex distiller. One of the technicians had set up a rough countdown clock, like one might find in a barracks New-Vorn celebration.

Freefall himself had a tiny inner war about it, before he unloaded his coveted stash of energon sticks from his subspace and carefully broke each one in half before setting them out - there would be enough for everyone today.

The party had gone better than anyone had expected, and ended up a raucous affair. The energon flowed, and someone - Freefall wasn't sure from which side - had produced a synth-guitar and was playing free form between old homeland requests.

There were a few tense moments throughout the night, that rapidly dissolved into laughing and set the party at ease in care of extending the whole absurd situation out farther.

Freefall still hung about Flux and Trench, and was having a grand old time low-key flustering Flux with subtle flirting. Highflier, who had been predictably introduced as 'Stab' by the CO, admonished him gently for it over their comms, but did not intervene since no actual harm was being done.

New-Vorn came with cheers and singing, which lasted well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt and couldn't resist making it a Christmas Truce type of situation! :D 
> 
> Also kudos to you if you've caught the references I've made in these little TFOC prompts. Unfortunately, this is the last that features these guys for now.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always!


	11. Humans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: Transformers: Prime, Slight G1 intersection  
> Characters: Knock Out, Breakdown, Vehicons

Knock Out had come to privately admit that the humans were inspired about a few  _select_  things, aside from just sports car models. They had a bounty of waxes for instance - both synthetic and natural - that brought out a shine to his finish only akin to the highest quality waxes on Cybertron.

Their media was another area he found himself drawn to. In the endless downtime and sheer  _waiting_  that war brought, this mud ball offered a few amenities to ease the processor-crushing boredom that loomed over.

As much as he had liked slipping off with Breakdown for a frag nearly whenever he wanted, and his partner was more than happy to oblige, even that became routine after a while. A warning from Soundwave after a particularly risqué romp had him looking for entertainment outside of the ship.

He partook in his usual street races and took up a human ritual known as the 'creature double feature' every week when duty didn't call.

A breakthrough came when the humans' information network became widely available to the whole of the Nemesis. Suddenly he had droves of information sitting right at his claw tips, and by Primus he would take advantage of it. He downloaded books and movies, and forewent the drivel humans called music.

He learned  _way_  more than he wanted to know about human medicine, and found himself to a long serialized human daily show entitled 'As the Kitchen Sinks'.

Knock Out would never forgive Gordon for breaking Donna's spark.

Breakdown humored his new interests and was good-natured about the whole ordeal, though he didn't really listen much when Knockout got off on a tangent.

Knock Out's microcosm shifted again when one day he stumbled upon the tiniest of subsections in the ship's own information network, in the oft-neglected recreation section. Others were talking about the human media he had so voraciously consumed before, and under aliases no less.

He signed himself in under an alias in microkilks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love it when the robots get themselves entrenched in Human culture. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Gods, Cybertron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: Primus

  
Primus missed his little creations. So many of them had left him that it would break his spark right in two if he could make it to full consciousness. He could feel them spread far and wide across the stars, he wished desperately in his star-sized spark that they would come back to him. Even fighting, off-lining each other on his surface - at least he  _had_  them nearby him.

The feel that those few little metallic pedes left on his surface was a sensation Primus hung on to dearly these days. He cared not about faction or ideal at this point, though he had hoped his creations could produce the utopia he knew they could.

Sometimes he dreamed about coming into his root mood again after so damned long and taking his remaining creations in his hands. He would sweep through the universe and settle himself far away from the likes of galactic councils or Quintessions that wanted to hurt his children. Their sparks would let off soft sensations of pain when they first came back to his, crying about those times they were taken from their frame by the likes of organics or those who had made themselves both tech and organic.

It was a different sensation when his offspring were offlined by their own, though. It was an all encompassing sorrow that filled his spark up completely with each new arrival. His sorry reflected theirs, as after death the illusions of the factions wore down and sloughed off when they came into his influence. Only two came back again and again, with desire so strong that they could pull away from the comforting influence of his spark. They strayed too far from him to keep in his eye, but their occurrence of appearance entertained him none the less, and he indulged them for the strength of their sparks.

As the population of his creation waned, inevitably so did the prayers to him and belief in him. The rigors of warring took many from both the fully living and the not quite living. Belief didn't wane so much in the colonies - they still celebrated and praised in the ways of the more tranquil, earlier times. It was different though, as he himself wasn't present there to enjoy those creations that honored him.

A few of his creations that dealt in death's aftermath still lived upon his surface and gave back the bodies of his younglings to him, along with their sparks. He felt touches of a tenderly impotent guilt that he couldn't give back to them in the form of his lifeblood anymore - but they worked tirelessly in their functions and he commended that.

One day he hoped he would feel the scant remainder of his children back in his arms again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new level for me, where I can be mean to Primus of all beings. :P
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos so far, I really appreciate hearing from everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying my writing :D


	13. Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Brainstorm/Quark, Brainstorm/Perceptor  
> Warnings: Sad Brainy  
> Continuity: G1/IDW  
> Characters: Brainstorm, Quark, Perceptor, Chromedome

Maybe occasionally Brainstorm had a type.  _Perhaps._  


That's okay though, it's  _normal._  Thousands of mechs - millions of them! - had types.

Microscopes were his; big deal.

Brainstorm's mind took fanciful forays into other areas, however, into the possibility of ex-enforcers and data sticks.

Sleek submarines.

Big ol' convoys.

It was always those damnably smart microscopes that caught his optics though, and he could never figure out why.

The first time he had ever seen Quark, and been introduced in a professional capacity, his spark had done the  _stupidest_  flopping sensation inside his chest. Describing his symptoms to a colleague later (but no names, never any names), brought him to a horrifying conclusion.

Love at first sight. How revolting.

Brainstorm sent himself through a battery of tests, all that he constructed himself (of course) to test out his preliminary findings and to his dismay - there they were in obnoxious purge pink letters.

"LOVE"

Cursing, Brainstorm assured himself that perhaps this Quark was a total aft, and he could get out of this 'love' issue unscathed.

Quark wasn't a total aft. Primus was cruel that day and allowed his vocalizers to short out embarrassingly when the microscope came to visit his lab. So much for being smooth and impressive. The short and horrifyingly awkward chat they had following confounded Brainstorm's experiment right there.

Quark  _wasn't_  a total aft and he _was_  articulate, witty, and his stupid visor framed his stupid face in a stupidly handsome matter.

Brainstorm decided that he was in big trouble there.

As far as he could tell, it could only get worse from there, and his behavior became more erratic the longer this went on.

If he knew in advance that Quark was coming to see him, Brainstorm would arrange to be in the middle of an exciting experiment that would better show off his expertise.

Those days just happened to coincide with the days he had polished his wings up just a little bit extra.

For all his hard work to gain his favored microscope's attention, Quark maintained a frustratingly professional demeanor with Brainstorm for a very long time before they got any closer.

And poor Brainstorm, coward that he was, never bothered to speak up beyond the natural evolution of their relationship. He considered Quark his Conjunx Endura, but he never knew if that feeling was mutual.

 

Now he was stuck in the brig of the Lost Light. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't have some regrets. A part of him would've been fine with living in a functionalist hell if it meant being with Quark.

Quark was in his past now, though a piece of him would always remain in his spark and in his processor.

He'd be with Quark in an astrosecond if he could, but he found himself falling back into those obnoxious cycles again when he was settled on the Lost Light.

 

Chromedome had very unhelpfully pointed out his behavior after a short few cycles of this behavior, mentioning that whenever Perceptor was around he acted more erratically. Brainstorm had denied such offensive allegations until Chromedome pointed out the can of polish that had migrated from habsuite to lab - in case a quick polish-up was required.

Brainstorm froze, having had a chamois on an extendable stick and that very same can of polish in his hand.

"What're you doing today?" Chromedome asked brightly. Brainstorm could swear he was grinning behind his faceplate.

"I have a meeting." Brainstorm replied darkly after a few moments of hesitation.

"Must be important, if you feel like you need to polish up your wings so much. Not to mention your mask. I can see myself in it."

Brainstorm positively glowered at his friend, who put his servos up in a placating gesture in response. "I'm just saying." He continued. " You walk into meetings with Rodimus and Drift covered helm to pede in soot, but if you have a meeting a certain microscope, suddenly you get all polished-up and Sunstreaker is doing your detailing."

Brainstorm crossed his arms and angled himself away so the light wouldn't glint off his polished bits so much. "I can't pamper myself now, Chromedome? Your theory is preposterous, pfft." The soft noise he made at the end of his bluff derailed his comrade right away - as he predicted it would. Chromedome's optics went bright.

"What the - Brainstorm. You made the noise again, how the frag did you make that noise!?"

 

In the present day, Brainstorm chuckled softly to himself as he thought back. He reclined on the bench in in his cell with his optics offline. Those were good times.

"And exactly _what_  about this situation is funny?"

Brainstorm shot straight up, optics blown online and trained on the owner of  _that voice._  Perceptor stared down at him glumly, arms crossed over his chest.

After gaping at him for a few moments, Brainstorm adjusted himself, sitting up straight and tall to regain some sort of decorum. "Ah, Perceptor," he murmured, after a suitably loud vocalizer reset. "If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up the place." He motioned lamely with one servo at the rest of the cell, the severed briefcase cuff clinked softly on his wrist. Even with the eyepiece sight in, Perceptor's stare-down didn't wane.

"You know," Perceptor spoke up after a few tense moments of silence. Brainstorm jumped, but diligently kept his servos in his lap, displaying the universal 'I'm paying attention' pose. "I don't know how anybody could be as blindly, genuinely  _brilliant_  as you are, Brainstorm." The mech in question stared at Preceptor incredulously as the words tumbled from his mouth, it felt as if his spark was going to leap into his throat. "And yet be one of the most processor deficient Cybertronians ever to have been brought on line!" His voice sounded at once astounded and frustrated.

"You take the genius you've been given and  _just what_   do you do with it? You  _squander_  it in a mockery of the scientific method. I don't know how anybody could be simultaneously such a prime virtuoso and yet fall so flat." Brainstorm caught himself preening under Perceptor's words, as his spark performed those obnoxious little joyful flip-flops. When Perceptor went off and left in a huff, Brainstorm attempted in vain to calm himself down. He was sure that if he had that emotion rater still, it would display that obnoxious purge pink 'LOVE' again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Brainy, you assume you'd be _alive_ in such a universe. 
> 
> I really enjoy writing Brainstorm, so this was really self indulgent. :,D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Sparkling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Megatron/Unknown, Drift/Ratchet  
> Warnings: Mech Preg, Non Graphic Birth, Baby Robots, Canon typical violence  
> Continuity: G1/IDW  
> Characters: Megatron, Drift, Rodimus Prime, Rung, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet

For a long time, he had no idea what could be happening to him.

Pain wasn't a factor, it was more a discomfort leading from his spark and down through the depths of his extra-armored chassis.

He uploaded a sedative patch and settled onto his side to get some well-deserved recharge.

When the gladiator awoke again, his berth was swamped in a sticky puddle of his own fluids. A deep ache was situated in his midsection all the way down to his hips.

 He began to sit up with something akin to a panic making his spark beat wildly, but razor honed instincts froze him in place as he propped himself partway up.

 Something wason the berth with him. Panic rising, he raised his fist up, but froze again as two tiny red optics went online to blearily regard him.

 The thing made a soft little cooing noise before snuggling closer and falling into a light recharge. He barely avoided an ugly glitch and when he recovered from that close call, slowly he reached to take hold of the tiny interloper. It took him a full three breems to realize he was looking at a sparkling.

 A sparkling that for all appearances seemed to have come out of him.

 He stared at the creature in confusion. How could he have a sparkling of all things? From what he understood, one had to want a sparkling to receive one. In the hazy light of the oncoming Kaonian morning, the gladiator gaped at his unexpected creation.

 It was the finials that caught his optics first. They reminded him in a sudden and violent manner of his own sensor panels, tucked safely away under his helmet. They framed the tiny soft faceplate and the thick optic ridges that nearly matched his coloring now, but tended more towards mining days gone by. Reds and yellows and whites also appeared on the tiny soft frame that was obviously headed for a future of speed.

 The gladiator's processor screeched to a halt once more, and his tanks gave a nauseous lurch. He replayed a suddenly resurfaced memory of an over arduous sponsor from a long time ago - long enough that he hadn't cared to remember his name. He was a smaller racing frame, some celebrity in white and yellow who got his jollies off from the thrill of dangerous races and dangerous games.

 The gladiator had allowed the racer to have his way for the extra credits, but he had never expected such an outcome from the encounter.

 There was obviously a gap in his education that desperately needed filling.

 

He would have to fill it in the next few solar cycles, on his way to Polyhex. There wasn't any way this bitlet would be safe around him, around here, not with the inevitable to come.

Luckily for him, sparklings were public knowledge if one knew where to look for the information. The first section he read from the data slug he pilfered was on care, and he carefully quashed the feeling of guilt that sprang up when the pad told him in no uncertain terms that he was taking care of his creation wrong. He pulled over right away into a more secluded area to allow the sparkling to feed from a small energon line in his wrist.

 The little one greedily took in all the fuel he could before falling back into a quiet recharge. The gladiator reconnected his fuel line before resuming his journey. This just illustrated in no uncertain terms why the tiny mech would be better off without him as a creator.

Reading the data from the beginning had the gladiator burning from embarrassment at his obvious lack of formal education. Of course unprotected interfacing made sparklings - and he had just given it all away without protection for a few extra measly credits.

 

The dataslug gave him all the information he needed to know about preventing something like this from happening again.

 He slipped through Polyhex under the cover of night, and used the next solar cycle to scope out his target - the sooner that he could get this over with, the better.

He couldn't get attached… more attached.

This was all for the best.

 

During the next night cycle he withdrew two things from his subspace - a mesh blanket and a windbreak. He'd be damned if he would let his creation go offline after coming so far. He wrapped the sparkling securely in the mesh, and when the early hours of the morning began to filter the star's rays through Cybertron's atmosphere, the gladiator left his tiny creation protected by the flimsy windbreak on the front step of a Primus named home for lost sparks. He quashed any regret that could well up as he sped his way back to Kaon.

  
It was vorns later when he saw him again.

He wasn't just some gladiator starting to get under the senator's plating anymore.

He was Megatron the leader of the Decepticons, and Kaon belonged to him. Soon, so would all of Cybertron.

It was a recruitment rally where his sparkling appeared to him.

He had heard of a heavier speedster proving himself among the back ways, and being especially proficient with a blaster. He had seen pictures, and his spark lept in a painful way when he laid optics on the young mech. He watched a holovid of a target practice, and felt some sort of guilty pride at seeing his creation's skill. The vid file was labeled 'Drift at target practice.'

Drift.

It wasn't the designation he would have picked for his creation, but it wasn't terrible. He supposed he didn't have the right to contest something as simple as a name for a sparkling he didn't even raise.

When he showed up at the rally, Megatron was sure Primus was giving him some sort of second chance. The young mech looked upon him like all the others did - with some wonder and fear, and loads of respect.

He called his creation forwards, and gave him a new designation. He would keep him close by from now on. Deadlock may not know that he was his creator, but it wasn't a creator's role that Megatron would be taking on.

  
Turmoil reported that Deadlock had gone AWOL after a sabotage attempt aboard his warship. He didn't trust Turmoil in anything but battle, so he ordered Soundwave to bring in Lockdown. He wouldn't be letting his creation disappear again if he could help it.

  
Rung was the first person - and only mechanism so far - that he told. He didn't give designations or the time frame that it occurred, but he admitted the fact that he had created once before. He told him that he was proud of where his creation was now, and that he had kept an audial to the ground for him when he learned that his creation was in his adult frame.

Rung asked if his creation knew him at all.

Megatron answered that his creation knew who he was, but didn't know they were related.

He was sure that gave Rung much to think about.

His surety went right out the airlock when Rung asked if his creation was an Autobot, a Decepticon or a Neutral. The session was nearly over, and so Megatron answered "Yes."

 

When Ratchet showed up again on the Lost Light with Drift in tow, Megatron was sure to avoid the speedster like the rust plague outside of his duties. He wasn't sure how he would deal with Drift, in a capacity beyond professional with the history between them - both professional and personal.

Much to his horror, Rodimus cornered him after this went on for a while.

"It's the Deadlock thing, isn't it?" Rodimus stated, after having tricked poor Rung out of his office and locked the two of them in.

"Excuse me?" Megatron replied darkly, rising from the berth kept in there.

"With Drift. You're ignoring him because he defected, aren't you?"

Megatron's processor halted for a microklik. He knew what he should say, but instead he ended up blurting out "I'm not avoiding him!" Smooth.

 Rodimus stomped up to him and from what Megatron could tell, he was trying to compensate their height differences with his servos on his hips and his chin upraised. "That is red hot slag, and you know that." Rodimus bit out in turn, moving to poke his finger at the Autobot symbol on Megatron's chest.

 Megatron gritted his dentae and clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself not to pick the smaller bot up by the neck and forcibly stuff him through Rung's window. He calmed himself back down as the sound of Ultra Magnus giving warnings about a door breaking to come.

 "You overstep your bounds, Rodimus." Megatron said, voice low. "Any issue I may have is only my business."

 It was as the door was breaking down that Rodimus said something very lewd and Megatron's fist found Rodimus' olfactory sensors.

 A joor later,  Rodimus and Megatron were sat at the opposite sides of Ultra Magnus' office. Ratchet tended to Rodimus' face and the dents on his chest, while the erstwhile tyrant sat with his arms over his chestplate and glared a hole in the wall. Rung was also present, partly by Megatron's request and partly by the fact that his office was the 'crime scene'.

 "Whirl doesn't phase you, but one sentence from Rodimus and suddenly you're committing assault? If you want your side to be heard, you need to speak to us, Megatron." Ultra Magnus said, looking entirely too tired for this slag.

 He remained silent for a full breem before biting his lip components and mumbling something that even the audials of a cyberhound wouldn't be able to pick up. Even mumbling, he had an obviously hard time admitting it; just recently having admitted it to his therapist.

 "....Pardon?" Ultra Magnus asked, unable to hear.

 "I said," Megatron bit out. "He implied that I would interface. with. my. creation!" Each word found more and more volume, until he was on his pedes again, with his fists balled up.

 Rodimus gaped at him, optics blown bright in disbelief. Megatron sneered at him, sharp dentae bared. "That's right! And now you know!And if I ever hear you imply such a thing again, I will do more than just rearrange your face!" He froze in place, and took a couple of deep vent cycles when Rung put his servo on his arm.

 He continued to glare down at Rodimus. "I will not be waylaid and questioned for asinine interactions on my own ship. We're done here." With that, he stalked from the office, leaving one horrified bot, and three very confused ones in his wake.

 Rodimus slowly turned to look at Ratchet, he chose his words slowly. "I need to order a CNA evaluation to be done right away."

 

Drift... did not take the news well. He took it as a joke at first, until Rodimus brought him in to watch the procedure be re-done directly after a small portion of his energon was drawn. When Megatron's CNA popped up as being half the contributor for his own, Drift experienced a nasty crash, and passed out right in the lab.

 When he came back online, Rodimus was sitting beside him, and Ratchet was monitoring his vitals. He smiled wryly. "Tell me it was a recharge flux," he croaked. "...Who else knows?"

 "Ultra Magnus, Ratchet and Rung." Rodimus answered in clearly hesitant tones. "No else has to unless you want them to."

 Drift let out a long vent and stared up at the ceiling. "Well, this raises some questions."

 Rodimus snorted. "I'll say."

 He raised a servo just a tad, and Ratchet took it as Drift looked his way. "And how about you? How does it feel to know you've been in berth with a ~Decepticon Prince~?"

 "Perhaps we've uncovered the secret to your stamina?" He said teasingly, and both Drift and Rodimus grimaced.

 "Eugh, that was an image I did not need."

 

A few solar cycles later during his off duty time, Megatron received a ping at his habsuite door. He came to it and entered the open command.

He wasn't surprised to see Drift standing there. They regarded each other for a few kliks with resignation on one end, and wariness on the other before Drift spoke.

"...Can we talk?" He asked, making optic contact with the ex-warlord.

After a moment's thought, Megatron stepped back and aside to allow him in.

He motioned to the seating inside his modest habsuite and Drift soon found himself sitting across from the larger mech and woefully under prepared.

"Ssooo..." he started, trying to keep twitchy servos under wraps. "You're my creator?" He didn't really need to ask, knowing already, but he was grasping at straws already for conversation.

"One of them, yes." Megatron answered, just as awkward as Drift. "Your carrier."

 

Drift's gaze snapped back to his companion. "...ah... why did you keep me...? I-I mean, why didn't you terminate me when you found out I was there?"

 

Megatron wouldn't meet his optics. "...I only learned about you at emergence." He answered, deciding the frank answer would be the more constructive one. "I had you during my gladiator days… I didn't want that life for you, so I took you to Polyhex. In the early days of the revolution, and when Kaon fell… you would have been targeted right away if I had kept you with me." He glanced the speedster's way for a moment, but kept talking. "I've known you were mine from the time I learned about your exploits with a blaster in Rodion."

 

Drift silently took in the words in silence. He stared at his pedes while things came together. "...So the attention, the designation, Lockdown?"

 

Megatron nodded. "Because you are my creation. I knew I shouldn't show preferential treatment but... I found myself more attached than I meant to be, even then."

 

The pair sat in silence for a breem before Drift spoke up.

 

"....I don't think I can think of you as a creator... not quite yet at least. I'm willing to learn about you though. Primus gave us both a second chance, after all." The last part was said in a wry manner, and it made Megatron crack a smile.

  
"I'd like that, Drift."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last prompt was a bit self indulgent, this one is pure indulgence put into writing. I honestly have no idea where this idea came from, but here it is. :,D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Highgrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Robotic Alcohol consumption, Spoilers  
> Continuity: Rescue Bots  
> Characters: Blades, Heatwave, Boulder, Chase, High Tide, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Blurr, Salvage

High Tide's ship was a place of wonders. The salty old sea bot didn't have the bots on too often, but with the two new additions to the team, everyone got to go out for training. No one was surprised when Blurr antagonized the big bot, and he found himself in the drink more than once, while Salvage excelled in his drills for a newbot. The nicest thing about having the trainees aboard was that it really highlighted the skills of the professionals.

At the end of the day while the greenhorns swabbed the deck, High Tide shared a ration around with the rescue bots.

Blades glanced around at his team mates and the differentially colored cubes everyone held. His was a deep, disconcerting blue. While it  seemed like it could be normal energon, the others were starting to make strange faces. High Tide looked at him expectantly, and he looked once more into his cube before taking a swig.

This energon was  good. It had a slightly charged and burny taste, but it was pleasing to the fuel tanks and processor. The third mouthful introduced a fun fuzzy fog into his processor, and the last thing he remembered was the last few sips of the cube.

 

The next morning, he woke up with a massive processor ache, with his arms hanging over the edge of the firehouse roof. He groaned softly as he got to his feet, and his joints groaned in stiffness from the cold and the fine layer of dew that had settled over him as he recharged. He made his way - slowly - down to the garage and the bunker proper when his chronometer finally caught up to him. It was mid-morning, and he had recharged for an abnormally long time.

"Blades."

His energon turned icy, and he lifted his achy head to look up and up to the optics of one Optimus Prime. The big boss himself stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest and automatically Blades shrunk in on himself a little "O-Optimus! To what do we... er... What do I owe the pleasure to?" Primus, his voice sounded terrible. He gave it a firm reset and stood up and straight as he could manage.

"Would you happen to know the whereabouts of Heatwave and High Tide?"

Blades answered in negative. "Er... After having dinner with everyone last night, everything gets really fuzzy. I think I have some corrupted memory!" He took a cursory glance around. "I'd expect them to be around... here...?"

"Salvage, Blurr, Chase and Boulder are here; Chase and Boulder are... indisposed at the moment. I take it from the look about you that you don't fare much better. What can you tell me about last night, Blades?"

Blades regaled his short tale to Optimus Prime and when he was finished, Prime looked very thoughtful.

"So, you don't remember coming back to base?" A shake of the head 'no'. "Or calling my base?" A meeker no. "...Or talking to Bumblebee?" He squeaked out this last no. When Optimus asked about the quality of the energon he took in, Blades became convinced that he and his team had been poisoned.

Optimus told him this was not the case, but that he was disappointed that High Tide had given them the amount of highgrade energon that he did.

"...high …grade?" Blades asked, still in his mortified squeak brought on from the thoughts of what he could have said to his idol.

Optimus couldn't help the stare he gave the helicopter in front of him. He wondered how old Blades actually was before the start of his rescue force's fateful patrol.

For the next twenty minutes, Optimus found himself having to explain the concept of being overcharged to the young flier. He understood finally when Optimus explained it in terms of the drinks humans would consume. Chief Burns commed in soon after to alert him that Heatwave and High Tide had been located on High Tide's vessel out in the Atlantic near the Arctic circle.

Sometimes he wished he could authorize Ratchet to come out and deal with these young bots.

 

Much to Blade's elated horror, next week one black and yellow muscle car showed up for an apparently pre-arranged  private meeting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't actually concurrent to Brothers! I just felt a little mean streak and I couldn't resist. 
> 
> I formally apologize to playskool and hasbro
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Plating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Sparklings  
> Continuity: Transformers Prime/Post Predacons  
> Characters: Knock Out, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe

Most of the time, Knock Out didn't have to deal with the new mechs that had come from the well of Sparks.

That duty had fallen squarely on to the shoulders of Ratchet, though he was known to assist in surgeries that required more than one sets of hands.

Most of the time, Knock Out couldn't stand the little ruffians. They would come back to base covered in dust, rust, and all manner of unspeakable things. Each new batch was warned to stay out of Knock Out's bay, unless they were bleeding, missing an optic, or both. He dealt in adults and took on some gruesome cases. Plus, the eradicons seemed to feel more comfortable coming to him.

Imagine that.

 

One morning, Knock Out made his way to his work area early at a report that two young bots may be brawling around his precious tools.

When he got there, in a way he was pleasantly surprised to find everything in order – save for his prized buffer. A golden mechlet sat upon a red one of his same size, and was vigorously buffing out scratches from his brother's armor.

"Sunny, nooo, stoooop!" The red one whined, trying to wriggle out from under gold. "I'm just gonna get scuffed up again!"

"Sideswipe, if you ruin  my finish while I'm trying to fix  yours , I'll punch your face right in! No brother of mine is gonna go around looking like he took a tumble with a predacon!"

A mechlet after his own spark.

Knock Out cleared his throat, and the attention of the two young mechs snapped up to him right away. This time, Sunstreaker allowed Sideswipe up and they both got to their pedes.

They were regarded in silence a few seconds. At least the red one had the good graces to look mortified at being caught. The golden one just stared up at Knock Out intently without an ounce of remorse on his face.

He still held his favorite buffer in his little hands.

Oh for Primus' sake, the red one's eyes were starting to spark. "You, get out of here." He gestured to Sideswipe - who startled - and then to the door. The little mech was transformed and burning rubber right out of Knock Out's work area. When his little tire squeals ceased being in audial range, he looked down at the golden mechlet. He was still staring at him, but his optics had focused in and his bottom lip component was pushed out a little in a telltale pout.

"Your finish is better than mine." The little bot groused. "Show me how to make mine better."

Knock Out felt some sort of parental emotion bloom deep inside his spark towards the little mech.

 

The next few months found Sunstreaker an invaluable assistant. He didn't bat an optic when half eviscerated mechs came in, and the only time he complained was when he got dirty - which Knock Out couldn't blame him for. He worked diligently and in reward was allowed to come in and use Knock Out's buffer and polish whenever he wanted.

After the first couple weeks, Knock Out also allowed Sideswipe to spend time in his bay, as long as he minded his servos and didn't cause trouble. After a time and a few frankly adorable attempts at showing off his strength, Sunny told Knock Out right in front of him that Sides " Liked liked" him, and the little red speedster peeled out of medical again, not to be seen for a few solar cycles more.

 

When Knock Out helped Sunstreaker give himself a repaint in better quality golds and blacks, the little bot started to hang around Knock Out outside of the med bay too. Of course more often than not Sideswipe would come along too, having gotten over his mortification at this point.

Others started joking that Knock Out's parental protocols must have kicked in for the twin terrors, and he didn't mind the jibes so much.

He was quite fond of the younglings.

Once, a recently returned Autobot made a remark about Knock Out's loyalties. While that sort of comment was pretty commonplace, or rather they had been, the twins had both thrown themselves at the insulter in question. After a few days in the brig, Knock Out came and got them out. They both got a polish with his best waxes for their efforts.

 

Time moving forwards found the brothers drifting just slightly apart, with Sideswipe fully invested in trouble making and Sunstreaker finding himself interested in more artistic endeavors. Despite his acerbic personality, Sunny started to draw many a mechanism in for his skill in painting and detailing. The pair still found themselves routinely in trouble together though as their tempers remained snap-quick, and they weren't so small anymore.

Knock Out was proud of them though. They got under his very shiny plating in the best way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hurtin' for the presence of Sunstreaker in RID, so I felt obligated to write something with him in it, and since I'm a sucker for young/kiddie robots... This was originally not gonna have as much Sides in it, but resistance was futile.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Servos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Relationships: Soundwave/Ratchet  
> Warnings: Tactile, Dubcon-ish  
> Continuity: Transformers Prime-G1/IDW intersection  
> Characters: Ratchet, Soundwave, Knockout

Soundwave was no longer allowed to interrogate the Autobot medic. In fact, at this point it seemed like only Shockwave, or Megatron himself, would be doing such a thing.

When they brought Ratchet in, they had him restrained to a chair in a small, dim room. His forearms were magnetized to the table. An inhibitor would prevent him from transforming or using any of his weaponry.

When he came to, Soundwave sat across from him. His mask was blank, but when he noticed the medic coming on line, he sat forwards.

Predictably, Ratchet tested his restraints. He settled in soon enough, and affixed the Decepticon CCO with a nasty glare.

It was time for the interrogation to begin.

Soundwave flared out his spindly fingers in a mock warning before he entwined them with Ratchet's.

The Autobot froze in his seat as Soundwave began asking his questions.

With a stilted voice, Ratchet began answering the questions posed in hand vocally - though 'answering' was a very generous term for the insults thrown between gritted dentae.

Soundwave remained a paragon of professionalism, asking his questions with expert fluency. Ratchet didn't bother moving his hands at all - though the way he began the occasional squirmy twitch showed his questioning was having some sort of effect. He looked more uncomfortable as time went forwards.

He got into harder and more prying questions - more elaborate movements of his long fingers until suddenly...

Ratchet's body jerked, and he bit his lip hard enough to start a blue trickle of energon racing towards his chin. Soundwave froze as a strangled static-filled grunt left the medic's vocalizer.

Ratchet fell limp after another moment, and he bowed his head as a blue flush came to his faceplate and other thinly armored places.

=You were supposed to interrogate him, Soundwave, not frag him.= Knock Out's voice sounded far too amused over the comm. =Forged medics can have extremely sensitive servos, you know."

Horrified, Soundwave ripped his servos away from Ratchet's.

The prisoner in question smirked up at him with darkened optics and mumbled something about famous Deception hospitality.

Soundwave stood slowly, and stared down blankly at the Autobot for a few kliks before making himself scarce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I keep putting Ratchet into these situations, but I do. 
> 
> I really enjoy TFP Soundwave, and I really like the idea of speaking Hand from IDW. So here they are mushed together. :D 
> 
> Also, This is the last prompt written for my Camp Nanowrimo, so from here on out, updates of this will be sporadic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	18. Optics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Cyclonus, Tailgate

Even in recharge, tiny Tailgate's visor was the seat of his expression. His optics were his tell and he was as readable as an unencrypted datapad. Each of his circles had their own expression, from inquisitive wonder for Rang to bright and excited at the idea of spending a night for movies at Rewind and Chromedome's. 

When Tailgate looked Cyclonus' way, his look was completely different from any of the other ranges of emotion. Any tiny amount of praise from him had Tailgate's visor lit up bright in joyful surprise, and during those long nights when he didn't think Cyclonus was aware, he would look at him with darkened and half-shuttered optics, with a desire he likely didn't have any idea how to deal with. 

At very first, he was annoyed with the attention. He didn't have the time nor the mental resources to spend on teaching the young minibot anything that had to do with relationships and interfacing. 

Not to mention that the very nature of his state of existence now would ruin any sort of attempt at spark bonding that could occur. There were plenty of other mecha around for Tailgate to attach to. 

After their discussion on Hedonia, it got a lot harder for Cyclonus to convince himself of that. 

When he woke up after one recharge with Tailgate sitting on the edge of his berth, looking down at him with those optics darkened by desire and sudden surprise - but no less desire - Cyclonus decided he was certainly going to have to do something about this. 

He took a gentle hold of the minibot and pulled him down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time! I really can't resist the Cycgate. 
> 
> My beta couldn't either, since she cackled the whole editing process. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	19. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Freefall/Flux, Skygate/Unknown  
> Warnings: Baby warring  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOCs

  
"C'mon Flux, let's put our processors together."  Freefall gently kneaded the thick metal of the Decepticon's back and he groaned softly, lifting his helm from the birth to squint mostly shuttered optics at the flier whose berth he was sharing.

"Oooor." Flux started, not bothering to reset his static-y vocalizer, " We can go back to recharge now, and we can discuss what I'm assuming is either an elaborate prank or a scheme in the morning." Freefall allowed himself to be pulled back down with a small noise of displeasure.

"But Flux, I have to do exercises with Stab n' Gate tomorrow. So I won't have time. I still haven't made any progress with Skygate on the friend front - it's been stellar cycles! It's hard to discuss maneuvers with someone that doesn't even want to  _talk_  to you, isn't it Flux? Flux?"

Flux had dropped off back into recharge, having pulled closer to the larger flier. Freefall huffed softly before he reinitialized the recharge protocols himself.

 

"Mark."

"Sync."

"Sync." Freefall stood with his wing mates out in the back of his base, readying for flight. Highflier had greeted him warmly and had provided a little smalltalk as Skygate had ignored both of them until it was time to prepare.

Flux had told him not to bother with the jet, that it was mechs like Skygate that gave the Decepticon cause it's start.

 At least he was professionally pleasant during maneuvers and missions, and led their wing with poise.

 After their maneuvers, Freefall checked out his and Skygate's post-flight fuel. When Highflier was suddenly scarce, Skygate caught on to Freefall's game and adopted a grim expression.

 The taller aerial led him a ways away before offering him his ration. "May we talk, wing-leader?"

 Skygate looked at him like he had suddenly attatched a second head. Freefall wasn't exactly known for decorum. "Go ahead, soldier." He replied, taking the offered energon in hand.

 Freefall spoke frankly. "I don't like the way you treat me outside of missions and exercises,  _sir_. A good wing should work well together on  _multiple levels_ , and I feel our wing is  _lacking._ " Skygate bristled with every word, and by the end of Freefall's words he was valiantly trying not to cant his wings agressively.

 "This is effecting Stab too, Skygate." Freefall said, armor puffed out. "So here's the deal: Shape up and remove the stick from your aft - or I will go to the CO to issue a challenge for this wing's leadership." Skygate nearly dropped his cube in shock, and opened his mouth to speak - but Freefall beat him to it.

 "I know that you don't like the fact that I was constructed cold, but at least I give a slag about my  _function._  That should be the only thing that matters to the likes of you. _"_  He hissed out the word function as if it was acid sliding out between his dentae.

 Freefall turned on one thruster and flicked his wings dismissively with his own ration in hand. It hadn't been exactly how he had wanted the conversation to go, but he had a spark - Skygate had to know that.

 "Decepticon fragger."

 Freefall halted in his tracks before performing a perfect about face turn.

 "...Excuse me??"

 Skygate's posture was openly hostile now. "I said: You frag Decepticons."

 Freefall's engines let out a growl. "So what if I do?? So do you!"

 "You do it  _badly."_

 Freefall dropped his ration and launched himself at the other flier.

 

Stab came to bring them their energon later, in the brig. Skygate was already in recharge, so he took a seat outside Freefall's cell. Freefall came and took a seat next to him after a few sips of fuel. "He spouted off slag about Flux, St-Highflier. I couldn't let that go."  Highflier retracted his visor to rub his optics.

 "Yeah, everyone heard. 'Gate does talk a lot when he fights." Freefall's wings perked up before Highflier spoke again. "But throwing insults about each other's lovers and being thrown into the brig doesn't make Rolldown think  _either_  of you are particularly fit for leadership. She's pretty slagged off - by the way."

 Freefall stared at him in silence for a klik before bringing himself to speak. "The CO made  _you_  the wingleader?" The phrase came out a little more incredulously than Freefall meant, but Highfligher took it in stride.

 "Not yet." He started, falsely bright. "But she says Skygate needs to shape up or he'll lose the position- no more functionalist slag, and that she'll offer Unicron her spark before she allows some hothelm that pounces on someone who insults his interfacing habits to run our wing." Freefall winced and cowed back a little. "I'll deliver the news to Skygate when he wakes up. You try to get some recharge, alright?" Freefall threw back the rest of his cube and handed it back, deciding to comply. He got up and so did Highflier in turn.

 "You wouldn't be too terrible a wingleader, 'Flier. I guess." Freefall lounged on the small berth on his front, since it wasn't constructed for one with wings. Highflier rolled his eyes at the younger flier, before leaving the brig.

 

The next few solar cycles found both fliers out of the brig and back to their (albeit light) duties. Ceasefire talks stills continued on well, as the Decepticon CO had figured out that Rolldown's shoulder mounted mini-gun would begin to spin when she got really irritated. There was no illusion to the fact that the planet they occupied was likely one of the few places in the whole bloody conflict where they had decided to stop fighting, and so the agreement was crafted around the tenuous bonds formed at New Vorn's and after.

 

A greater exchange of non-confidential knowledge and resources ensued. Some grounders from both sides had even taken it upon themselves to cut a path from one base to another, and a cleaner clearing in the neutral zone where the party had occurred.

Flux was delighted to no longer have to 'sneak' his way out of the Autobot base the mornings after he visited, even though the security personnel already knew he was there and often waved good-bye to him.

Flux was joining Freefall and Highflier for their morning rations one day when Skygate appeared at the table took a silent seat with his ration in hand. The other three mecha silenced and took to looking at the fighter jet until at an annoyed flash of his newly fixed visor, they eased awkwardly back into conversation. Flux stiffly introduced himself and to the surprise of the other two planes, Skygate primly responded in kind. Freefall supposed that no matter how small - or forced, progress was progress.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone take my computer away from me, or I'll keep writing these yahoos. :U As always, Thanks to CZ for being my long suffering beta. 
> 
> Now that my school year is (mostly) over, I should be able to update more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D


	20. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Attempted Waspinator/Starscream  
> Warnings: Crackery, OOC behavior  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Waspinator, Starcream, Chromia, Ironhide, Windblade

Waspinator startled as a set of servos set themselves down on his shoulders, and shuddered as a thumb stroked it's way down to near the base of his wing.

"Why hello there~ You've got...  _lovely_  wings Waspinator. I have lovely wings too. What do you say to taking off and getting to know each other's  _wings_  a little better, hmm?" He knew who it was before the mech was finished talking, and pulled out from under his servos quickly, whipping around to face him down. 

"Zztarzcream! You are not zuppozed to  _touch_  Wazpinator!" His big purple optics narrowed down and his armor flared out defensively. "Wazpinator wantz no part in Zztarzcream's planzz!" 

Starscream, the supreme leader of Cybertron - who was debasing himself just by being in this alley outside Maccadam's - took a step towards the predacon in his sights. "Come now. Wasp. Waspinator. This could easily be beneficial for the  _both_  of us, you know. You know people I  _want_  to know. I  _want_  to know you." He held his arms out wide, but Waspinator took another step back with his wings flared out. 

"Wazpinator zayzz NO! Get it through your zzztupid head!" Within a nanoklik, the predacon launched into the air and transformed. He glanced back in his beast mode before diving off elsewhere into Metroplex where the seeker couldnt find him. Starscream watched him go and crossed his arms over his cockpit. He considered following - he was far faster than his quarry after all - but he decided against it. 

"My head isn't stupid." 

 

The next morning, Starscream got to his office to find it already occupied. None other than that pain-in-the-aft Windblade sat in his glorious chair, her pedes up on his desk. "You-" He started beginning to storm in, only to halt as the door slammed behind him. His gaze flew to Ironhide, who was the door-closer. He was entirely too close for comfort. Chromia slipped from the shadows behind the huge red autobot. "What is the meaning of this?" Starscream hissed and moved slowly to the window as his null rays span up. 

"Calm yerself down, Starscream. This ain't a coup or nothing." He raised his servos in a placating manner. "We just wanna talk to ya' about Waspinator." Starscream let his null rays cool off. 

"What about him?" He asked, becoming defensive. "What goes on between that predacon and I will remain that way - between us. " 

Windblade clicked her glossa disapprovingly. "We're already involved. The poor bug nearly ran the three of us down yesterday to tell us that you got into his  _personal space._  We've  _spoken_  about this in the past, Starscream." She didn't sound amused, and she swung her pedes of the desk to stand. "Everyone in this room knows that Waspinator is a  _vulnerable_  individual, don't we?" her wings hiked up aggressively as Ironhide and Chromia gave their agreement in sage, silent nods. 

"See thething is, O  _Glorious leader_  is that Waspinator came to  _us_  yesterday. Complaining you were up to your old  _tricks_  again." Starscream found himself being stared down against the wall by the agitated city speaker. When had her guardian coding kicked in? And for Waspinator of all bots? He found himself wanting to placate that coding in turn, and he slipped away from her and the wall. 

"Fine!  _Fine._ I'll leave him alone - for real this time, okay?" 

Windblade kept her gaze on him, but his words seemed to do the trick - for now. 

She stood up straight, and plastered a wide smile on her face. "That's good to hear,  _Lord Starscream._  I'll let him know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This indulgence was spawned from a conversation C_A and I had about crack pairings, and how Waspinator _really_ could use more people watching his back. :D
> 
> So, this is the last of the post-April Nano session prompts. I'm gonna be doing the July Camp Nano session, and I hope to bang out the rest of the prompts then!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	21. Prime, Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Implied Windblade/Starscream/Optimus Prime  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Windblade, Starscream, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Chromia, Rattrap

"We dislike this as much as you do, Starscream, but this job needs to be done by a leader. Someone with a  _big_  chassis and a good helm on their shoulders."

Optimus Prime cleared his vocalizer. "I don't mind it so much. Combining, that is." The fliers turned on him, and Windblade gave him a  _look_  that would  have cowed him if it wasn't for the slag-eating grin he gave the two of them in turn.

"Of course he enjoys it. He's a pervert." Starscream's tone was dismissive, he waved dismissively at the two of them. "Being the  _head_  of the operation probably sweetens his disposition too."

Prime would have scoffed, but he didn't dare it. He knew the two of them enjoyed combining just as much as he did. like with any other team, he was Optimus Maximus when he combined, but the colloquial name for this particular combination was 'Windstar Prime'. He thought it was cute. Starscream wondered why 'wind' was the first part of the name. Windblade was too busy wondering about the implications about becoming a being wherein the Matrix of Leadership resided to worry about something as trivial as a  _name_.

Both of their tones would sweeten once they were one.

Optimus felt amusement run along from his  _other_  gestalt bonds as he initiated the combining sequence. Starscream managed a squawk of rage before his consciousness flowed into his gestalt-mates'.

Windstar Prime took all of the best traits from his component parts, and his mind was stable. Ambition melded into adaptability and the intense desire to do the right thing. Three sparks and the Matrix sung happily inside him and he found he could stay like this for quite a long time. Sometimes that 'he' became 'she' and that had delighted the Camiens beyond belief when he had introduced himself as such.

Today, he needed to help the Camiens with something very important and delicate- The moving of Caminus' brain module. It's receptacle was in dire need of repair, but Cybertron (Optimus and Windblade) had offered to help and the Camiens graciously accepted.

Windblade's spark sung inside him as they stepped over the space bridge into Caminus, and he took to the skies on powerful wings that gracefully encompassed the style of both of his fliers.

 Camiens cheered as he passed overhead and he waved back to them in turn, there was a small crowd gathered at the main terminal to Camnius' brain. Windstar wasn't as keen on speeches as his dominating force, and so only a few words were spoken to the citizens gathered before they started on their way.

The Windblade part of him allowed him to cityspeak, and so he crooned assurances to Caminus all the way to the temporary brain module quarters. Once the city's brain module was settled in, the Mistress of Flame paid her due respect to the Prime he was; and Windstar Prime was a gracious acceptor of the worshipfulness his very presence demanded.

He couldn't preen for long, though- he had duties to return to: Cybertron was most of his home after all. The Cybertronians looked at him with all of the same awe the Camiens gave, with far less of the worshipful attitude and quite a bit more apprehension.

He understood though, having had done some pretty scary things in the past.

....was his office always this small? His aft barely fit in the chair. That was a matter for later- Ironhide was talking to him.

"Y'gotta seperate now, y'hear? The  _Prahm-"_

_"_ I  _am_  the Prime, Ironhide." He replied coolly, tone apparent he was none too happy about this question to his office.

The  _disrespectful_  red warrior in question gave the other mechs that had invited themselves into his office a  _look_. Windstar  _knew_  that look.

"I can do all the duties I need to as  _myself_ , you know. There isn't any need to be concerned." That was good- the diplomatic approach was always good.

"Optimus Prime, c'm-" One of the interlopers, Wheeljack, cut off right away as the combiner suddenly stood.

"My name is  _not_  Optimus Prime." He said darkly. "My name is Optimus Maximus- Or Windstar Prime, if you will. I  _am_  Metroplex's cityspeaker, I  _am_  leader of this world and the inhabitants therein, and  _ **I am Prime.**_ I will  _not_  be disrespected in this way."

In the back of the room, Chromia nudged Rattrap. "Go get the Lost Light on the horn, we're gonna need him to talk to Megatron.... _again._ "

By the day's end, Windstar Prime had been reduced back to his component parts.

Windblade and Optimus Prime were both apologetic for their combined attitude, and Starscream was apologetic for nothing but the fact this his favorite chair had been dented.

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, long time no post. :D So Here's the first of 21 chapters that will finish out this monster. I got 18 of the prompts done during July's Camp Nano session and by the time this finishes updating - October, I'm thinking- I'll have everything done. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	22. Warrior, Sparkling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Galvatron/Arcee  
> Warnings: Baby warring  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Arcee, Galvatron, Astrotrain, tfoc

 

It honestly didn't surprise Arcee when Galvatron kept her waiting for their liaisons. He was convinced of some old-time warrior slag about waiting for no mech, even if that mech had the courtesy to frag him into the ground every once in a while.

It had been a while since their last meeting, though Arcee wasn't one to dwell on such things - nor arrange a meeting herself so it surprised her when Glavatron dared bring Astrotrain again. She dropped cover and let herself be seen with a weapon in hand; If Galvatron wanted to talk it would be after he was pinned with the slag beaten out of him... or alternately if she was pinned with the slag beaten out of her.

 As annoyed as she was with Astrotrain's presence, she had the distinct feeling something was off, and it took about two kliks of staring as Galvatron came forth for her to place it. Chassis rigid, she stood up from her defensive posture.

 "Ooooh no. By the  _Pits_  no."

 Galvatron wore a slag-eating grin, and it widened as the words issued forth unbidden by her vocalizer. On his hip sat a small mechlet with pink and purple armor and an intense stare leveled directly at Arcee.

 Arcee subspaced her weapon. "I do  _not_  have time for slag like this today."

 Galvatron fell into great booming laughter as Arcee turned around and transformed. "A warrior cowed by her own newspark, now I  _have_  seen it all!" The laughter followed as she sped away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time! I ship Galvatron/Arcee. Fight me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	23. Alt-Mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Allusions to kidnapping, Functionism, Sparklings, Spoilery bits for those of you that are reading [Primacy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4196499/chapters/9479568)  
> Continuity: TF Barbarian!Au  
> Characters: Megatron, First Aid

 

"Can you show me again, Lord Consort?" Megatron set his datapad down to peer at the his mechlet apprentice who looked up at him with his visor bright and little hands clasped in front of his mask. He vented softly and refreshed his reminder that here in this half of the planet - where he was indubitably stuck for any length of foreseeable future - it wasn't rude to be so curious about one's altmode.

"Alright, First Aid, let's go." First Aid whooped in triumph and initiated his own transformation sequence to zoom away outside to wait for the older mech. Megatron shook his head and made his way outside the structure and into the chilly day. His apprentice was back in his root mode, bouncing on his pedes in barely contained excitement.

Megatron initiated his transformation sequence, and it was in short order that he had his tire treads on the ground. His own mentor had called him a mobile medbay in jest when he had scanned in for the first time, but that wasn't so far from the truth. When he was fueled and functioning at optimal efficiency, he had everything he needed to keep a patient stable or to assist another medic in doing so for an extended period of time.

When he had first shown his altmode among the Autobots, it was in a conscientious example that the function one was born into did not dictate what one had to be for one's whole life. A miner like he had been was easily reformatted into the medic he had become. The oldest bots - those who held positions of power under the Prime - had just declared he was an obvious exception to the rule made by Primus, and so he was blessed for that.

He declared in turn that he didn't believe that Primus gave a single rusted rivet about their lives.

He saw the light change in the eyes of some of those gathered mechlets that day though, and that was when his tactics slowly started to shift. 

It had caused First Aid to gain something of an actual interest in medicine, or 'saving lives' as he had said - medicine notwithstanding, and so the little red and white mech's parents where happy and Megatron gained a tiny Autobot shadow when he was out and about on his own.

As the sparkling forgot himself and clambered up onto his hood as if he was a climbing toy, he figured there could be worse places to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't resist parental Megatron in any capacity. OTL 
> 
> Nor can I resist this AU apparently. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	24. Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Baby warring  
> Continuity: Transformers Prime  
> Characters: Knock Out, Soundwave, Vehicons
> 
> This is a continuation from [#11- Humans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3815713/chapters/8595409)

There was, as humans would say, a troll in the dungeon.

Except in this case it was less of a dungeon and more of a  _message board_. The mecha on the Nemesisinvolved in the small messaging system had a traitor in their midst, and whoever it was had caused quite an uproar over the last few weeks of local time. The worst part was no one could figure out who it was that was posting such  _inflammatory_   things in their message boards.

For Knock Out, the worst part of it was that lately this rouge poster had turned their attention to  _his_  posts now, in that passive aggressive way. It had all been fun and games until he logged in after a particularly long and very  _trying_   shift to find the hottest topic of the board was how Donna and Gordon's relationship from the most popular human television series among the Decepticons was simply 'superior'.

Whoever it was called themself 'Professor X', and as many of the eradicons adopted aliases from Earth media it was impossible to tell who it was. Those Knock Out heard grumbling about it off-line could be ruled out, and they seemed to be looking to root out this troll among their own ranks. He hoped they would find him before he did.

 

'As The Kitchen Sinks' wasn't only one piece of Earth media Soundwave consumed in his reconnaissance duties as the Chief Communications Officer for the Decepticons, but it certainly was the best piece of media to use in riling up the ranks during their off-shift. He had come across the messaging system upon it's conception and with morale in mind, he let it stay.

Then, he began to notice a positive trend in those Decepticons that participated in the messaging system and got into arguments on it with those who came back from battles with the Autobots. They were far less likely to get slagged and remembered their training in a much clearer manner if they had an episode to watch and use as a jumping off point for their arguments to return to. With that in mind he took up the role of 'Professor X'.

Frankly, he was surprised they hadn't caught on to his identity yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Soundwave, you cad. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	25. Blaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Literal Baby warring, Canon typical violence, Sparklings  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Brainstorm, Ultra Magnus, tfoc
> 
> A snippet from the universe of [this fic here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4466912/chapters/10150931)

"It's not even a choking hazard, I don't know what you're so worked up about!"  Even with his ironclad patience, this was almost too much for Ultra Magnus, and it was giving him a nasty ache in his processor. He held the sparkling securely in one hand and the other held the sparkling sized gun- a miniature version of the 'My First Blaster'.

"He  _shot_  people with it, Brainstorm.  _Several_  people. The gun's being confiscated, and you two are lucky that I can't in good conscience put someone so young in the brig." Ultra Magnus closed his hand around the blaster, and offered Fission to his creator. The little one looked quite pleased with himself and Brainstorm couldn't exactly fault him for that... he  _had_  given him the pieces of the puzzle that made the little gun after all.

Thank Primus for masks.

"Uh.... So... who all was it that Fission shot?" Ultra Magnus gave him a  _look,_   it honestly wasn't much different than his look before, if more disapproving somehow. "I want to know for.... Parental reasons. Yeah, that."

Brainstorm had a lot of trouble keeping a straight face when Ultra Magnus told him that Fission's 'spree' had started with none other than Megatron himself, and ended with Ultra Magnus when he had chased down the little flying hellion. In between then, his casualties included the likes of Ten, Bluestreak,  _Perceptor_ , Jackpot and Getaway (not twice, but on three separate occasions)! That was just the damage done at Swerve's.

Brainstorm tried his best not to beam with pride as he got his creation to mimic out an apology for Ultra Magnus, but the moment the ex-enforcer had left his lab, He gave Fission a high-five and an energon goodie for a field-test well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I tell you? Baby robots, man. They're my weakness. Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Here's](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/private/117307336085/tumblr_nncgeoFTOP1r0ujbu) the list of the prompts again! As you can see, I've only got three left. :U


	26. Aft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Megatron/Tailgate  
> Warnings: Touchin the booty before asking the cutie, inebriation, terrible pick-up lines  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Tailgate, Megatron, Xaaron

Megatron didn't so much as flinch when he felt a tiny servo set itself on where his upper thigh met his aft. The flinching came with the accompanied slurred,  _terrible_  pick-up line.

 "Heeeyy Sweetspark, on a scale of one to ten I'd rate you a nine, 'cause I'm the  _one_  you need."  Thankfully the only other mech on the observation deck at the time was Xaaron, so hopefully nothing of this embarrassing encounter would end up spread throughout the ship. He almost felt bad for the helpless bystander, but the moment the words hit air he sub-spaced whatever he was reading and got up to go. Gently, Megatron removed the overcharged minibot's hand from his aft, and turned around to get down on one knee so he'd be at his level.

 "Tailgate?" He started slowly, carefully choosing his wording. "Who put you up to this? This is a prank in very poor taste." He glanced about for a moment in search of Tailgate's usual cohort or any little red lights that could indicate recording devices attached to datasticks. Seeing none, he turned his gaze back to Tailgate, who wore the most indignant little pout.

 "What? I can't jhusht.... just make a move onna bot I find 'tractive?" he was doing his best to sound offended - and stand up straight - and Megatron did his level best not to show how amusing this situation was to him, or how amusing it would be, if he wasn't convinced that someone had put Tailgate up to this.

 "Not when you're this overcharged, you can't."

 "'M not overcharged! I'm just intoxicated by  _you_." Tailgate followed that up with a dimming of his visor and what was likely supposed to be a suggestive lean-in, but Megatron steadied him back upright to prevent him from falling over.

 "Tailgate." Megatron said, adding a little warning tone in with his exasperation. "Please enable your fuel intake moderation chip." Sulking outright now, Tailgate steadied on his own almost right away when the chip activated. "There we are. Now, that's quite enough of that I do think." Megatron said with a nod. He released the minibot and stood up straight. "Good bye, Tailgate."

 "Wait!" Megatron paused, and turned back to look down at the far smaller mech, expecting an apology. "I-If I follow y-you home, would you k-keep me?" Silence stretched between them, and Tailgate squirmed under Megatron's incredulous gaze.

 "By the Pits, you were serious." it came out more as a flat statement than a question, but Tailgate nodded quickly in reply anyways as he stared down at his pedes. Megatron contemplated the little mech in front of him and shook his helm minutely at the strange nature of their entire encounter.

 He didn't hide his amusement this time. "Alright, Tailgate. I'll meet you back here tomorrow after first shift. Don't be late. " Tailgate's entire demeanor shifted into a bright elation, and Megatron bid him farewell for the cycle. He was going to find out who gave those lines to his tiny admirer and 'award' them a shift of brig time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this, but I ship it. :D It was painful to find these pick up lines. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Well of Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Sparklings, Death  
> Continuity: Any  
> Characters: TFOCS

"'M going to the Well soon, aren't I?" The medic halted as the little voice broke the not-quite-silence of the medbay. He set down the tools for the monitor he was working on and made his way over to sit next to the sparkling's berth.

"Who said anything like that?" He asked. This sick little one had been sparked weak, grew poorly and fallen ill before he could get halfway to his adolescent frames. With very careful medical oversight he was predicted to make it into adulthood just fine.

"I do." the little one nodded slowly- even this small act sapped his energy. His servo began to raise in a motion, but it stuttered and fell back to the berth. "My spark feels off... more than usual. I don't think it'll be long now." The medic listened on with a grave weight descending on his shoulders. This sparkling wasn't one for theatrics, and so he put a priority reminder into his queue to do an extra check of his vitals when he was in recharge again. The little one hung his head. "I don't care about dying, but I don't wanna go to the Well."

"Why's that?" The medic prompted gently, wanting to know what brought on this mental burden.

The little one gave him a forlorn look. "They say when you go to the Well, you could come back again to live another life if Primus took pity on you. People said that the last time.... when I almost didn't make it." He looked back away again, as if he was admitting something deep and dark. "I don't wanna come back again." The medic frowned, he reached out to pat the little one on his helm in a comforting gesture. A story shared from medic to medic when it came to patients like these came to the forefront of his processor.

"You know, I've heard that for some mecha  _don't_  go to the well after they deactivate." This piqued the young bot's interest, and he looked back up to him again. "These mecha have had  _really_  difficult lives in one way or another, and Primus takes their spark and places it into the core of a star to rest for as long as the star lives. Then if they wish it, they can come back to live among their own kind again." The little one contemplated this with a newfound hope in his eyes.

 "You think I that's something I could do?"

 "I think Primus would be happy to make you a star-spark, if that was what you really wanted."

 Little one smiled for the first time in a long time."It is." The medic thought to himself that weakness of frame didn't necessitate weakness of spirit, and sat by his bedside until he found recharge.

 

In the end, the little mech's words proved prophetic - he never woke from that recharge, and his weakened spark went out a couple of days later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here's some sads to follow up that funny. :D Thanks for reading!


	28. Frag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E  
> Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus  
> Warnings: Sticky Sex  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Megatron, Rodimus

If there was a word for being so full of regret but so sexually sated and  _wrecked_  that one literally couldn't get their engine to turn over, Rodimus wanted to know it. He had gotten in  _way_  over his helm this time.

 He stared slack-jawed at the ceiling of the plain habsuite as his body tried it's best to recalibrate itself after his last overload, with little success. Megatron, the insufferable fragger, sat across the room casually reading some paperwork as if he hadn't just spent half a shift's worth of time blowing Rodimus' circuits only to leave him laying in a puddle of his own fluids.

 

Like most ill advised idiotic endeavors aboard the Lost Light, this had started with a bet.

 Smokescreen had bet Rodimus a decent amount of money that he couldn't get Megatron into berth with him. Jackpot added to the stakes by throwing his bet in on Smokescreen's favor.

 Megatron had rebuffed his advances all of ten times before the eleventh, where he agreed upon the condition that Rodimus not speak directly to him for an entire week's worth of shifts. Rodimus agreed with a huge grin, he pinged Smokescreen that he and Jackpot better get ready to make good on the bet as Megatron dragged him off to his habsuite by the spoiler.

 As they arrived at Megatron's habsuite, Rodimus was wondering out loud about the state of the interface equipment of the slagmaker himself when a soft click and slide sounded. Rodimus stared as Megatron made his way onto the berth, valve exposed. "Well come now, don't you have some sort of point to make?"

 "I'm.... I'm spiking?" this threw a few preconceived notions right out the airlock. He had been  _sure_  that he would be the one getting spiked with all the soreness and physical evidence to prove the tryst really happened after. He drew in close as if hypnotized as Megatron's voice came out in a sensuous register even in insult.

 "You young mechs are so obsessed with your spikes that it's surprising that your brain modules aren't located there." He thumbed his anterior node as his fingers gently stroked at protoflesh lips. "With this mode of interface, the power is with the mech using their  _valve_." It was embarrassingly easy for Megatron to prove his point when a sheer wave of  _lust_   Rodimus didn't know he had for the older mech had him popping his spike cover.

 The first round was  _humiliating_  for Rodimus. Megatron was openly amused at the speed in which he finished, as if he was still some newbuild in Nyon, ignorant to his own frame. He took a moment to rest his helm on Megatron's broad chest. "J-Just give me a klik, I can go again."

 Quickly enough, his spike was pressurizing again. He began to move in an effort to adjust and suddenly found himself on his back, and Megatron smirked down at him from his new position seated on his hips.

 "You had your go- I must say that for a former holder of the matrix, I'm not all too  _impressed."_  He leaned down and put his servos on either side of Rodimus' helm. "Hold on tight, Rodimus  _Prime -_ this is likely to void your warranty." He then bore down on Rodimus' spike with a clever hip wriggle and  _squeezed_   and Rodimus let out something between an undignified yelp and a moan.

 It was all curtains from there, and Megatron spent the next several hours drawing overload after overload from Rodimus' frame. Sometimes it was embarrassingly quick for the smaller mech - a few clever twists of the hips here paired with big, blunt fingers pressed into transformation seams and he was off again, fingers dug into Megatron's hips so tight he was sure he left dents behind. Other times it was tortuously slow, with Megatron drawing it out and edging him along his overload until they could see the electricity running desperately along Rodimus' frame, looking for an escape. Megatron gave him a short rest after those rounds, he produced little firm cubes of energon candy laced with something he was sure Ultra Magnus wouldn't approve of and hand-fed them to Rodimus to keep him fueled and get him ready to go again.

 The last round had Megatron's hands off of Rodimus' chassis and on his own for the most part. Rodimus was beginning to feel distinctly like an ineffective frag toy, when Megatron let out a low moan that shot straight to his spark and his interface array. Megatron arched up above him in a vision, his overload drew one last one from Rodimus in turn, and the smaller mech could've been sure he saw Primus.

 

When he came to again it was to that throughly  _used_  feeling and a conspicuous lack of weight on his frame. He allowed himself the thought thread that he had gotten in way over his helm... but at least he had a few image captures to prove of his tryst.

 Megatron allowed him to recharge there and wasn't there when he awoke again. Some sort of humbled, he cleaned up the berth and used his washrack before leaving.

 

If Megatron had known that all he needed to do to have a Rodimus-free week was to frag his co-captain through the berth, he would have acquiesced on the fourth or fifth advance. His first and second days were blessedly quiet, and it was just like he was on a well-earned vacation. 

 Day three came, and with it was a confusing development... that being a box of energon candies. Attached was a wordless note, with a poorly drawn facsimile of a spark on it. He stuck it in his 'potential pranks' inbox and thought nothing of it until the next day.... when more showed up along with a small bottle of energon with spicy additives. Another note was attached to the candy, and a cheeky message about the notes 'not counting as direct speaking' accompanied the poorly drawn spark.

 Megatron groaned and pressed his servo to his faceplate. The marathon he'd put the smaller bot through appeared to have had quite a profound and ill-intended side effect on him.

 Now he had to deal with Rodimus the co-captain  _and_   Rodimus the suitor? The universe really was conspiring against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand with that, I'm going on vacation for 10 days or so! 
> 
> (wink wonk) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ;3c


	29. Matrix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Sparkling, Mishandling of said sparkling, non-consensual body modification  
> Continuity: [TFPrime AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4194222/chapters/9473847)  
> Characters: Megatronus, tfocs

Conciliator Chronicle wished he had been dismissed after he had brought the urchin in. He had a duty to see through to the end, though - and as a secondary representative of both the high council and the Priests of Primus, he had no choice but to be here to see this. The sparkling had been hesitant to let go of him, but he had been prised away with no hesitation on the part of the Conciliator. Chronicle moved on to the viewing room without a second look back.

 When he saw the little thing again he had been stripped of his cheap paint and decals and polished in his silver armor to a mirror shine. The priests spoke their ritual, and lifted the shining matrix from it's receptacle. The scared little sparkling's attention drew up to the shining artifact, and the priest holding it came around to kneel down in front of him with the artifact outstretched.  

Prompted, the sparkling reached out to touch, and with a strangled squeak that could be heard from even the viewing area his little chest plates folded back to expose his tiny spark. The priest moved back away from the sparkling to join her co-conspirators even as the matrix held itself in the air and forcibly reformatted the young mech's innards before all of their gazes.

The sparkling's body held rigid and taut as the matrix slotted itself into place over his spark and when the last bit of reformed chest plate cut off the ethereal glow of the proof of his new status as Prime, he crumpled to the ground in an offline heap. Conciliator Chronicle let out a vent he didn't realize he was stalling as the stewards that had come to gather the little Prime earlier came back to gather him up and take him away.

It would be centuries before this little Prime- A  _true_  Prime - would be groomed enough to lead, but he had incontestably done his part in seeing that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what happened to that poor lil' Miner sparkling directly after the first chapter of Unified. Y i k e s. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	30. Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Drift/Perceptor implied  
> Warnings: Canon character death, Angst  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Drift, Perceptor

A little contact was what was needed, Perceptor could tell. Firm rubbing and gentle kneading on black shoulders had them relaxing just that little bit more, and he knew Drift appreciated his actions without him having to say so. Drift held his great sword in a silent reverence with one of his finest polishing meshes in hand to work the weapon into a nearly glowing polish.

He'd taken the news of Dai Atlas' demise badly, and Perceptor could tell he was doing his damnedest to save face until he could be alone to properly grieve. Ratchet had him confined to the medbay indefinitely for repair however, and so he was trapped. People had been funneling in and out to speak to him, see happy clappy hippy Drift again and Perceptor was last in that line by intention.

"I know." he whispered, gently leaning to press his helm to the back of Drift's. And he did know. One didn't make it out of the Wreckers alive  _without_  knowing. Drift was a Wrecker too, the knowledge shared between them was acute.

Drift remained silent, but his movements stilled. After a few long moments, the set the sword down, propped against the mediberth he sat on. Perceptor waited until it was settled to come around and sit next to him. Drift didn't look up at him, instead he took the invitation of an outstretched arm to lean against the microscope and let his helm fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want Drift to learn that Dai Atas is dead. :{
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	31. Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Drift/Ratchet  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity:IDW/G1 au, Megamom AU A side  
> Characters: Megatron, Drift, Ratchet  
> This follows [This Prompt Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3815713/chapters/8618338)

Megatron sputtered on his coolant. After a few sharp coughs, he set his glass down, and wiped his mouth off to turn and regard the person trying to speak to him. " _Pardon_  me?" He asked, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be processing.

Ratchet practically hovered over him where he was sitting, all arms crossed and faceplate scowling his trademark scowl. When Megatron motioned for him to go on, he let out a long vent. "I'm not saying that whole blasted long thing again. I'm asking for your permission to ask Drift to bond with me."

Megatron gazed at him blankly for a long moment. "... It's not really my place as Captain... Excuse me,  _Co-Captain_ , to say who you can and can not bond to." Ratchet gave him one of his trademark Utterly Whithering™ looks that could have the likes of Rodimus Prime running for the hills, but Megatron had withstood worse.

Ratchet broke first.

"You're his creator." He explained, motioning at him a few times. "So..." It took Megatron a few moments to make the connections of what Ratchet was trying to say, and he shot back the most incredulous looks when he parsed it.

"You're attempting to do the 'traditional thing'." He said flatly, as his gaze morphed into something unimpressed. "With me of all mechanisms." Ratchet's stiffening posture gave him his answer before the medic spoke again. They both knew what he was referring to of course. Megatron had been allergic to the word 'traditional' since before he had taken Kaon.

"Yes. It's important to me." Ratchet replied in turn, resolute as ever even in the face of potential rejection. "I want to treat him right - give him everything." Everything seemed to include outdated floral language of a dead age, Megatron observed dryly - his gaze softened though. He could relate in a roundabout manner where Drift was concerned.

Megatron stood slowly, and Ratchet observed him like a gyro-falcon. He squared his shoulders up with Ratchet's and extended a servo. "I, Megatron of Tarn, do hereby give my blessing and my permission for you Ratchet, to pursue my only creation - Drift of Kaon - for bonding should he find you an acceptable suitor." Ratchet's scowl didn't budge, but the ritualistic words had his optics brighter. He reached forwards and grasped Megatron's servo in both of his for just a few moments when he finished speaking.

_"Thank you."_  Ratchet was so heartfelt that Megatron couldn't help the smile that cracked at his retreating back. Drift was lucky to have him. He took his seat again, a warm feeling diffusing through him from his spark.

 

Down the hall and around the corner, the mech in question waited anxiously for the return of his lover. Ratchet's expression told Drift all he needed to know, and he broke into a huge grin.

"He said yes?"

"One better, he gave us his  _blessing."_  Drift's smile in turn became  _radiant._

 "Even after telling him his expected role in the ceremony?"

 Ratchet made a snorting sound. "Absolutely not! That falls on  _your_  helm. He is your creator after all."

 Drift made a theatrical groaning noise before leaning in to bonk his forehelm to Ratchet's affectionately. "I think we'll manage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agathawrites is completely to blame for this. :U This damn pair of AUS has sucked me in. When I refer to Megamom A side, that's the AU where Drift is Megatron's creation, left by him in Polyhex in hopes he'll have a better life (spoiler alert: he doesn't) Megamom B side is where he keeps him instead, and so Drift grows up as the Decepticon movement does. 
> 
> I am thoroughly REKT by feels. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	32. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Death, Violence, Trafficking, Sparklings, past Mechpreg  
> Continuity: IDW/G1 AU, Megamom AU B side  
> Characters: Megatron, Drift

He couldn't do it.

He was halfway to Polyhex and he couldn't do it.

He got off the highway at the next available exit and found a place to pull over and idle for a few minutes to clear his processor. Selfish thought threads had wormed their ways into the forefront of his mind and he couldn't do anything to stave them off as something whispered to him that he would be doing wrong to continue on his way. He could feel the strong thrum of his bitlet's spark inside his cabin, the tiny venting that adjusted perfectly to keep him at optimal temperature. Even if he hadn't known it until he was in emergence, this was  _his_  sparkling,  _his_  responsibility and the little mech  _trusted him._

His resolve to give his sparkling a life better than he could provide crumbled, and coding he had no idea he was suppressing clicked into place in the form of a protective surge stronger than the desperate panic that had waylaid him with the little one's birth. The gladiator, Megatron, got back on the road and turned back to make the journey back to Kaon. He'd make his excuses to his comrades as he was required to or be damned.

The excuses ended up being unnecessary, as a few the older gladiators that had stayed on after Clench's recent.... removal... took one look at the tiny mech held in the crook of his arm and gave him his space with a knowing nod. He found himself wondering how many gladiators, how many other bots of low caste - past or present - had found themselves in his position.

That first night, he introduced his sparkling to those he deigned trustworthy enough with the designation 'Drift.'

 

Drift was a crafty sparkling with a bit of a temper when things were not as comfortable and nice as he would like it. It endeared him further to his carrier, especially when mecha who wanted to pet the bitlet without permission found themselves with fingers bitten by sharp little denta and hissed at. He was a little spitfire and Megatron couldn't be more proud.

 

Only one incident of note occurred with Drift in the gladiatorial arena. Megatron had been infomed mid-battle that someone was attempting to set up a transaction with his sparkling as the product to be traded upon completion of the night's battles. He was nearly on autopilot as he buried the nearest sharp object in his opponent's helm and left the ring with another clenched in his servo. A location query to Drift's systems told him exactly where he needed to go, and bots dove out of his way left and right at the sight of him filled with rage and covered with energon that wasn't entirely his own.

The buyer didn't have time to react as the gladiator came upon them, as the blade from Megatron's weapon cleaved his helm right from his shoulders. He pushed the body aside as it fell, and turned his burning optics on the traitor. "Put. Down. My. Son."

The traitor quailed and moved slowly to put Drift- who was gnawing away angrily at the mech's arm - down. As soon as he was released, the little mech initiated his transformation sequence and burned rubbed to behind his carrier, who still stood firm in a defensive stance.

The traitor stood up straight just as slowly as he had done going downwards, his arms outstretched in the universal gesture of placation. "Now Megatron." He started, fear evident in his voice. "Let's not d-" Megatron was on him in a sparkbeat, and had his weapon buried in the other mech from the neck down in the next.

With the killing blow struck, he stood up over his opponent to watch the life drain over him. It was barely nanokliks before Drift was next to him, grasping his leg and hissing at the dying mech. Megatron bent down and picked his offspring up, setting him on his shoulder where he could hold onto his tread casing.

Obviously he needed to rethink his sparkling-sitting stratagem. By the time he made it back inside, word had spread of what happened and the altercation that followed. Another gladiator had taken his place in the ring, so he moved past gaping audience members and fighters more intent on watching him instead of the match as he went.

The makeshift medbay was sparsely occupied, and so he came to the berth nearest the idling medic on duty and plunked Drift down on it. "Check him over." He ordered, startling the mech out of his reverie. "Make sure his systems are clean and he's not hurt." The medic eyed him for a moment after a glance at Drift, who aside from flared armor and bared hissy little fangs, seemed fine on the surface.

"I should take a look at you first, I think I see some exposed wiring th-"

Megatron's paint-peeling glare came back. "You shall do no such thing." His tone was restrained, but just barely. "Drift comes first. I have, and will suffer much worse." The medic stiffened almost imperceptibly as someone from outside the makeshift medbay filled him on what had happened.

"Ah! Yes. Right away, Drift first."

Megatron's expression softened some, and he rested his servo on the little bot's helm as a comfort as the medic went through scans and a physical exam. He became calm and lost his aggression with his carrier's soothing touches. Only when Drift was issued a completely clean bill of health did Megatron allow his wounds to be looked after. He cuddled his sparkling to his chestplate as the medic worked on him, and Drift in turn crooned wordless tunes to his parent as the work was done. It was a strange slice of domesticity in a place saturated with violence, their own little world not to be intruded upon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened! 8U 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	33. Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Ultra Magnus/Rodimus, Ultra Magnus/ Rodimus Prime (One sided)  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: IDW/G1-Generation one   
> Characters: Rodimus, Rodimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Science team

Rodimus Prime wouldn't call meeting his alternate self  _troubling,_  just.... surprising. He was young and boisterous and cocky - all things he himself  _had_   been. He called himself Rodimus Prime as well, having had the matrix for a while before his Optimus Prime came back, and he dropped the 'Prime' from his designation. His Ultra Magnus was different too- in more ways than one, and Rodimus Prime wondered if that was in part due to this universe's Rodimus.

He couldn't help the envy he felt when he saw them together at stolen moments, when the Ultra Magnus who was stricter than he was used to would indulge his alternate self with stolen kisses and touches. It made Rodimus Prime realize that he was envious of the other things this him had too, and the overall sense of freedom on top of that. He had everything that Rodimus Prime wished he could have for himself.

Rodimus was a leader- the captain of a ship full of Autobots because he  _wanted_  to be, not because there was literally no other choice.  At least this other him was easy to talk to... as easy as it is to literally talk to oneself. His time aboard the Lost Light helped ease that burden for a short while though. Rodimus Prime's counterpart told him to take it easy and so he did, he spent most of his time among the crew and most of that time with those who had been lost from his universe. He made no attempt to hide his avoidance of one of the crew, though he treated him with decorum (when he had to deal with him) after Ultra Magnus had assured that the 'ex' part of the title of 'ex-warlord' was truly going to stay that way.

 

It was painful to learn how much of Rodimus' attitude was a facade. Rodimus Prime had asked Ultra Magnus off-hand why Rodimus wouldn't delve into deeper topics with him, why he didn't want to talk about his past as Hot Rod like Rodimus Prime had. Ultra Magnus proceeded to tell him about Nyon.

Learning about what happened on Nyon cast Rodimus Prime's alternate self in a new and terrible light, terrible for how it aged him- for the weight it dumped on his shoulders and how he maintained through all of that.

When Perceptor, Highbrow and Brainstorm had found a way to return Rodimus Prime to his own dimension he made a last round through the ship to say goodbye to those he had grown to know. Rodimus was there to see him off, and he pulled himself into a hug. His smaller, pointier self was surprised, but didn't pull away until Rodimus Prime did.

"You've done great so far, kid." Rodimus looked at him with a bit of confusion. Rodimus Prime patted his shoulder before moving into position to be zapped back to his universe. "Er.... And, It wasn't your fault, don't hold all that blame! Tilallareone!!" He barely got it all out in time to see the muted shock and recognition in Rodimus' optics before he found himself tumbling back through the universal fabric and right into Autobot city's communication center, bowling over several mechs with his sudden appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rumbley in my tummbley that only a crossover could satisfy. (We really need more crossovers c'mon friendsss) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	34. Wheels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Canon Typical Violence  
> Continuity: IDW/G1 AU, Megamom AU B side  
> Characters: Drift, Orion Pax, Megatron, Soundwave
> 
> This follows [#32, Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3815713/chapters/10614000)

The call had come in late at night about a small group of gangsters causing trouble not too far from his location and so Orion Pax answered the call. Locked and loaded, he moved to the location highlighted on his nav with his blaster spooled up and a message calling for back-up ready to be sent.

In surveying the area he found no gangsters, heard no blaster fire. What he did find were three young mechs who were grimy and a little worse for wear. They hooted and hollered as they raced around the abandoned construction site, and the acoustics of the surroundings were just right to make their engines and cheering sound far louder. Orion vented out in aggravation and put his blaster away. He readied a message to Head Quarters to fine the caller for filing a false report, and prepared to make his move. He wouldn't need weaponry tonight if the feeling in his tanks was anything to go by.

There was one easy exit off the lot and that was where Orion put himself, fists on hips. He clicked on his megaphone, blipped his siren audio a short moment.  **"Citizens, pull over."**  Two sets of tires screeched to a stop right away at his words, but the third.... The third racer revved his engines and completed the circuit, coming right at him. Guessing the young mech's game, Orion widened his stance and outstretched his arms.

The adolescent transformed and threw himself at open space when he got close to Orion, but he was one step behind the enforcer. Orion reached out and took hold of the kibble on his back, using the momentum to flip him over and send him skidding on his front side. He was on the speedster not but a klik later, barely used mechling-sized stasis cuffs in hand. "Now, can we talk about this or do I have to haul you in?" He could feel the anger rolling through the youngster spike and fade back, as if he was trying to hold it back and calm down.

"I haven't seen you around here before, where are you from?" Orion's voice kept that authoritative edge, but had softened considerably. It was in an effort to make the young mech relax, but he went against the usual grain and stiffened considerably in return.

"Kaon." The young mech answered after some hesitation. Orion hauled him to his feet in one fluid motion and put his shoulder in a vice-like grip. He turned his attention back to the other two racers - they were in root mode now, and quickly matched them up mentally with the myriad of mecha he knew to frequent the streets.

"You two." They jumped to attention. "Do you know who I am?" The pair trembled, nodding quickly. "Consider this your one warning then. Go." The pair skittered around them and initiated thir transformation sequences to peel away. "SPEED LIMIT!" Orion called after, before looking back at the mech before him. He directed him towards the roadways, wanting to chat on foot before escorting him back home.

"What're you doing so far from home, youngling?" Caught out again, the speedster re-stiffened. Orion could tell he was big for his age, likely due to one parent being bigger than the other. "Are you a runaway? Are you in some sort of trouble in Kaon?" The mech looked up at him, surprise and horror apparent in is optics.

"No! No...  I just wanted to race. Carrier doesn't understand. I snuck out. He's.... working." His voice dropped into a low, guilty register at this admission. Orion eyed him for a moment longer.

"Alright. I'm going to escort you back to Kaon. On the way, I'll get some information on the needs of your frame type compiled, alright? No funny business on the way back, I want to see you get home. Give me your carrier's comm, please." The younger mech appeared to weigh his options for a moment before grumbling his assent. Better to be escorted home than spend the night in a cell and deal with an angry, worried parent in the morning. Orion let go of him when they hit the road and directed him so that he could follow and keep an eye on the youngster.

The drive to Kaon wasn't exactly a short one, so it was after he compiled his needed information that he sent a ping to the comm frequency with a request to talk. He didn't expect the sonorous voice on the other end, confused and testy.

"Who is this, and how did you get this frequency?"

"Evening. I am Orion Pax, an enforcer out of Rodion. Do you have a moment?"

The voice on the other end didn't respond for a moment, as if in thought. "...What can I help you with, Officer?"

"You're in Kaon, correct? I found your youngling racing in my jurisdiction in a construction zone."

The mech on the other end of the comm seemed to absorb this quite quickly, and that hypnotic voice turned grave. "Is he alright? Is Drift hurt?"

Orion could have smacked himself, were he able to at the moment. "Ah, no, he's fine! I'm escorting him back to Kaon now, is there somewhere we can meet you?" The coordinates the other mech shot back were that of a public square. Orion didn't blame him for the caution in his voice offering him thanks for bringing his offspring - Drift - back, he'd be cautious too meeting someone in the middle of the night like they arranged, even someone who claimed enforcer status.

Orion and his charge - Drift, got as close as they could to the appointed location by road before they were forced to walk the remainder of the way. There were few loiterers at this time of night and so the mech they were there to meet stood out clearly. It took Orion some time to recognize the mech, but when he did it clicked right away. He had traded in mining decals for more exotic painted-on patterns, and the officer wondered for a microklik if he had upgraded to a profession that showed off that strong frame in exciting ways. Orion was able to keep his professional face on thankfully, he approached right away.

"Megatron with an 'R', right?" He asked with a jovial tone, offering a servo for shaking. The mech's - Megatron, he was sure - attention snapped right to him, and he obviously recognized him too after a moment.

"So it is. Orion Pax, I wasn't expecting to see you again." He took the offered handshake. "And it seems thanks is in order for returning Drift to me." Orion let go when Megatron did and followed his gaze to the mechling who had shuffled to use him as some sort of shield from his parent's gaze. Orion stepped aside as Drift apparently became quite interested in his pedes and the ground under them. Orion took his chance to send his complied information on Drift's frame type to his parent.

Megatron crossed his arms, and let out a heavy vent. "Drift." The mechling hunched his shoulders. Megatron's voice remained level and even. "I'm not angry with you, Drift, but this is  _very_  disappointing. I'm not a mind reader, I need you to communicate with me." Drift cracked a ghost of a smile at this, as if it was part of some sort of inside joke between the two of them. Megatron stepped forwards and gently patted his creation's helm. "Let's head home.. Ah, that is: If he's not in trouble?" Orion straightened up just a slight amount.

"No, no trouble. Take this as your warning though, young mech. Keep the racing to the recreational tracks from now on, alright?" Drift grumbled out a soft agreement as well as a thanks for escorting him back to Kaon. Orion hesitated in his farewells with the draw of the charismatic miner and his seemingly clever creation so close. He gently quashed the question of maybe meeting Megatron again sometime and told the two of them to get home safe with a smile apparent through his battle mask. He left them there after allowing himself a last longing look back, and was at the main road back to Rodion before his processor caught up to him.

When Orion Pax had well and truly gone, Megatron received a comm ping. "Orion Pax: Did not know." He glanced to where his operatives had placed themselves around the square, and motioned for them to pack up and head back with a motion of his hand before he replied to Soundwave. He put a hand on his still sulking youngling's shoulder to at once keep him close and direct him.

"Good. What did you find?"

"Orion Pax: Finds Megatron's frame pleasing to behold." Megatron could've sworn Soundwave sounded amused.

"Even better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I had so much fun with this one. :D
> 
> And yes, Orion _did_ think Megs was an exotic dancer. :,D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	35. Fuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Skids/Swerve  
> Warnings: Intoxicant consumption  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: Skids, Swerve  
> Takes place directly after [Words Lost](meridianbarony.tumblr.com/post/127714030505)

"Gimme a Burning Blackout." Skids plonked himself down at the bar, startling the utter scrap out of Swerve. The minibot had just barely opened the bar up for the day, and had been expecting a good few hours of peace before the rowdiness started. Skids was always good on his tab though, so Swerve got him the tiny amount of engex in the equally tiny shot glass.

"Rough day?" He asked, placing the drink in front of him and leaning on the counter for a story. Skids looked at the ominously bubbling engex for a moment before glancing up at Swerve.

"Nope." He replied quickly. "Gonna get even better in a second." He downed the enegex in hot klik and was pulling Swerve over the bar at him in the next. Swerve barely had to time to react before Skids' mouth was on his. Stunned, he flailed to grab anything. The counter was out of reach but Skids wasn't, and so he managed to gain purchase on Skids' helm and gently push him back. The kiss broke and Swerve barely got a look in at Skids' darkened optics, barely heard him murmur his name before he was kissed again. He managed pry Skids off of him again and just managed to ignore the strut-melting, processor-blowing zing that charged through his circuitry.

"Skids! Slow down! By the Pits, what are you doing?" Skids was giving him a dreamy look with dimmed optics until the next words out of Swerve's mouth snapped him right out of it. "Who put you up to this? Was it Smokes or Jackpot? Atomizer?" The look Swerve was giving him could've broken his spark. He put his servo over Swerve's mouth so his words really could get in edgewise.

"No one did." He said, commanding up his firmest tone despite the potent fuel charging up his systems. "This is all me."

"Rhmllm?" came Swerve's muffled reply, he looked completely unsure of Skids' intent still and his entire being reflected this.

"No one. I've wanted to do that for a while.... a long while actually. I just couldn't do anything about it before today." Swerve looked upon him like what he was saying didn't make any sense, and Skids supposed that through the encroaching buzz in his processor that it would make more sense to the minibot if he had known that he had just been at a certain bar on the surface, telling off someone on his behalf and he wasn't gonna let that high of courage run off before he attempted a move. The engex was just helping to sustain it at this point.

"Go somewhere with me! Ack. I mean, please! If you want to." The words sounded fine in his brain, but got more and more garbled as they hit the air. Swerve successfully wriggled free of his grasp and hurried around the counter after he was steady on his pedes again.

"Sure, Big Guy, sure. Tomorrow." Swerve gently took hold of Skids' servo as he turned to face him. By a sheer miracle of Primus, Skids managed to keep  upright until Swerve directed him into a booth. Skids looked at him with fritzy optics and mumbled something about how good Swerve was to him before passing out, his helm hitting the table with a soft thunk.

Swerve rolled his eyes and moved back to the bar, nourishing the tiny hope in his spark that Skids had been entirely serious about the entire affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y e p, Skids went right from Blurr's bar to see Swerve. I'm always a slut for Swerve being treated well. (My poor tiny son)


	36. Conjunx Endura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Relationships: Bumblebee/Soundwave  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: G1  
> Characters: Soundwave, Bumblebee

"I wish we could actually bond. You know, like people used to before the war."

"Bonding: unwise. War: may not be over."

A sigh and a gentle clonk of helm against chestplate.

"I know. But I want to  _feel_  you deep like that in my spark. With the merges now I only get to feel you for a little while."

A gentle caress of a small sensory horn.

"Soundwave: understands. Soundwave: feels the same."

Blue optics survey a red visor in the dark, bright and still containing some of that idealistic hope and romance not quashed by the horrors he's seen.

The horrors he's committed.

"Then how about we risk it? No one else has to know. It'll just be you, me and the cassettes!"

It's the same conversation every single time. The same suggestion followed up by a gentle nuzzle of chestplates and the vibrations of a voice kept in low register. The same gentle reply, a promise that feels like rejection, he knows.

"Soundwave: can not in justifiably bond with Bumblebee. Bumblebee: must wait until the war is truly over. Soundwave: will not risk Bumblebee's deactivation should deactivation occur."

Silence stretches between them before words are barely whispered.

"I don't really wanna go on living after the war if you're not there, Sounders."

It's an aberration from their usual script. Optic contact is made, longing on both ends is apparent. A red visor offlines and vents let out a small puff of warm air.

"Answer: remains no. War: must end. Bond: too precious. Soundwave: will not allow it to be manipulated. Bumblebee: would face alienation."

 "I don't care. We've been together too long for me to care anymore." The words are sure signs of a pout. A visor comes back online.

 "Reminder: relationship secret." Amused glyphs in return.

 "And won't they be shocked to know how long it's been going on."

 "Court Marshall: hopefully avoided."

 "I'd bet they'd just be glad for a step forwards in inter-faction communication."

 A soft sound from vents, not unlike a gentle derisive snort.

 "Megatron: would consider Bumblebee seduced. Optimus Prime: would consider same. Additionally: Innocence taken."

 Annoyance distinctly came from the smaller of the pair.

 "They would think that."

 "Optimus Prime: Bumblebee's surrogate creator. Optimus Prime: remains thinking of Bumblebee as very young ."

 Beginnings of mischief dance on the surface of a mind.

 "He's invited to whatever ceremony we have after we're bonded proper though, right?"

 "Answer: Of course."

 They're silent in each other's glow for a short while.

 "..... Bumblebee: not allowed to traumatize Optimus Prime at ceremony."

 "Aww Sounders! C'mon!"

 "..."

 "...Please?"

 He gives in, to this at least.

 ".....Operation: Minimum Trauma."

 A brilliant grin, even in the dark. The mischief remains.

 "Thanks, Sounders. You're my very favorite Conjunx Endura."

 "Soundwave: Bumblebee's  _only_  Conjunx Endura."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was an experiment in format and I really like it! I'm not gonna be doing all fic like this, but it may show up again. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	37. Energon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Sparklings, Sparkling abuse, Torture, Cannibalism, Death  
> Continuity: IDW/G1  
> Characters: TFOCs, Whirl, Orion Pax
> 
> A/N: This is a really, _really_ dark ficlet, and the themes therein are also such. Read only at your own discretion.

The sparkling came online slowly, and he knew something was terribly wrong.

He wasn't long into his activation, his chronometer had ticked up to a week before the adult came. He had been hopeful then, if wary. The adult seemed nice enough -nothing like those that came and went before he and the others had been herded off to this area outside.

The outside! Being outside for the first time made his little wheels spin. He was bigger than the other sparklings, a little stronger too, if those first few days was any sort of indication. The noises and lights and sheer volume of sensory input was just too much for some of the littlest ones, and so they hid behind him or in his cargo bay when he transformed for recharge. The adult seemed nice enough, nicer than the others who had come before and made the other sparklings cry and stop moving, Nicer than the not-adults-not-sparklings that came and poked at the ones who didn't move anymore and the ones in recharge.

"Well, what do we have here?" The adult had said. The sparse group that had remained in the refuse bin at that point had huddled all together. They had heard him coming and prepared for the worst "A little transport, how darling~" The sparkling couldn't help but look up. Optic contact was bad, all of those that survived thus far had learned that after the first few days. The adult was very different than the others he had seen so far though, even when comparing him the mechs that had herded them all around when he was barely online.

This adult was  _shiny._  That was the first thing the sparkling noticed about him. The second was the cube of energon he held in his outstretched hand. Brand new alerts flashed red in the sparkling's heads up display, and before he knew it he had the cube in his arms and was back with the others, greedily drinking down what his tiny tanks could hold as the others did the same.

"Little transport~" Feeling stronger, the sparkling looked back again. The adult was smiling down at him and a desirous set of feelings bubbled up in the young mech. He toddled back to the wall, arms outstretched in a request to be held. The adult  looked quite pleased with this and reached down to heft the mechling up. The mechling experienced the warmth of another mech for just a klik before he felt a sharp pinch in the cables of his neck and his world went dark.

In the present, this slow onlining did serve to teach the sparkling a few things about his systems. Language packs had successfully installed and initialized in the time he had been offline, and his told him that for the four weeks he had been activated, the last three had been spent in stasis. His HUD gave him a list of systems that were online next to a list of those that were off, as well as a log of changes that had taken place during his stasis. An alert flashed constantly which warned him about which of those offline systems were critical to functioning out of stasis lock. That puzzled the sparkling, as he certainly  _felt_   like he wasn't in stasis lock at the moment.

It was only after he was fully booted that he realized his situation - or at least scratched the surface.

He couldn't move at all.

He couldn't move at all and his optics wouldn't boot up and his vocalizer was offline. His spark began to spin wildly in it's casing as he attempted time after time to initiate his transformation sequence unsuccessfully. The staticy feeling of crying was familiar at least, and it took him into recharge.

The next time the sparkling awoke, it was to a slow, painful tug at his spark that appeared as if it would never stop.

Occasionally, the youngling's mind would surface to muffled sound. His audio receptors had not been offlined and in whatever place of dark suspension he existed in, this allowed him the privilege of some knowledge. Sometimes it was the adult's voice he heard and fear shot through his processor and had him quaking until the voice faded again. Other voices talked about how nice this place was, how nice the things were in comparison of their own. He had no idea how any of them could think this place was nice, but at the same time he wasn't sure they could even  _see_  him, or knew he was there. The words 'delicacy' and 'vintage' came up quite a bit.

Then one day, the pulling stopped. The mechling's spark burned bright and hot in his chest, but the pulling was  _gone._  His mind surfaced to an all new set of voices.

" _Slag_ , this one is looking  _really_  bad." The mechling flinched as something came in contact with his armor, the most motion he could make. The voice yelped in surprised and he flinched again. " _ **PRIMUS!**_ We've got a living one over here!" The mechling's body shook with the vibrations of voices and heavy steps moving closer to him, and he lost the plot in the din of sound. Suddenly he was moving, and something was  _touching_  him again.

 A flat  _thing_  moved over the top of his helm. "Little one? Are you with us? Frag." There was a rush of air on his body and the sensation of heaviness swinging from his frame. "Captain!" The voice holding him shouted. "I'm going to get this sparkling to medical, he may not have enough time to wait for back up!"

A deeper voice rumbled from somewhere in turn and that feeling of warmth from so long ago was back, surrounding the mechling from all sides. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him again was this new voice, this  _warm_  voice telling him Whirl was on the case.

 

Coming online with someone else rooting around in one's processor was a strange way to wake. The mechling watched passively as the intruder looked into his settings and took data readings. An unused slot clicked on at the intruder's prompting. Data from  _somewhere_  flooded in, randomized, and landed on a single word.

Loader. He was designated Loader.

Seemingly satisfied, the intruder slowly backer out of Loader's processor, slowly onlining more systems as they went. His optics were the last to activate, given an order to come on slowly when they did. Loader became aware at once of a warmth surrounding his frame again, but this wasn't like the warmth that had taken him away.

He burrowed down into the soft warmth when yet  _another_  new voice assaulted his audial suite. "Youngling? Loader? Can you hear me properly? I need you to move you arms and activate your optics on your own, if you can." he recognized the voice as the presence still sitting in the periphery of his mind. "My name is Spanner, I'm a medic. You're safe now." A touch to his arm - he could feel it now! Properly!- accompanied Spanner's soft tone.

"Give 'em a break, doc. Little mech's had a bad day." It was the warm voice! Loader activated his optics as fast as he could.

"More like a bad  _life,_  officer. He had barely been activated before someone rooted around in here. The damage to his growing frame from those restraints just confirms that." Everything was blurry, as optics that hadn't been active in vorns tried to adjust. "Ah, Officer, perhaps the first thing he sees shouldn't be-"

Blue and black and yellow moved into his vision. "Stuff it up your exhaust, doc. This little mech rode all the way here in my cabin! He'll be fine seein' my ugly mug. You know who I am, kid?"

Spanner began to protest again, but paused as Loader's vocalizer let out a burst of static in a cough as he activated it. "Wh-Whirl."

" _Wrong!_  I'm the one, the onl- Hey actually: you're right. Looks like you  _were_  awake for part of that ride." Loader's vision cleared further, and he found himself staring up at a singular golden optic. This was  _Whirl,_  who made the pulling on his spark stop and brought him to this warm place where he could see again. A tiny sliver of hope bubbled up from inside him, and it wasn't unlike the feeling of the inside of the sparkling facility where he was born. He began to wonder if Whirl, this warm, friendly bot would be the one to take him in.

The intruder called Spanner disconnected from his mind and moved about front to hand something off to Whirl, and very suddenly Loader was struck by an acute sense of dreadful fear. Spanner looked like The Adult, and garbled memories of features from so long ago matched up mentally with the features he saw at present. Trembling overtook him, and even weak he curled in on himself towards the rotary at his berthside. "H-h-help, Whirl!" The whimpered words took both adults aback, and Whirl was hasty to carefully maneuver the youngling's line of sight away from the dismayed looking medic.

"No offense, doc." Whirl said, tone wry. "But I think it's yer face."

 

The issue turned out to be the medic's face. Any medic's face. The less face-like helm a mech had, the better. A visor and mask helped to ensure the little mech wouldn't have a bout of of anxiety, but the less common helm, the better. In his time allowed with Whirl, the little bot slowly opened up. He'd awake from recharge  and after frame-corrective surgeries and spark-deep tests to make sure he'd be fine with his minuscule amount of inner energon to find the enforcer at his berth side, ready with an all new story of baddy catching exploits or one of his supercop captain.

Whirl was there the day medical drones came in with an unfamiliar medic in tow, setting the young mech visibly on edge. Questioning proved nearly fruitless, as the doctor was only willing to say that Loader's impending movement was due to his age, and the fact that he was younger than he appeared. Whirl set to put up a mightily animated protest, but the medic cut him off.

"The parts of your investigation that require you to be here are concluded, are they not,  _officer?_  This patient has officially been claimed as a ward of the state. You have no need to be here." 

Loader could only watch as the rotary suddenly stilled. "...Spanner is his primary doctor. Where is Spanner?" 

The adults stared at each other for a few tense moments before the new doctor moved aside, and motioned to the doorway. "Spanner was... transferred. Now, I'm gong to need to ask you to leave or else security will be called." Whirl appeared to weigh his options, his claws flexed open and shut for the following tense few moments. Mind made up, Whirl took a step back and went to lay his claw on Loader's helm and look at him optic to optics. 

"You be strong, kiddo. Hopefully I'll see you again soon." Whirl stood up and made to move past the doctor and his drones, giving an angry rev of his engine as he went. 

With Whirl gone, the doctor and his drones came closer to Loader's berth where the youngling cowered. "It's about time we got to  _work,_  isn't it, little mech?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Loader.
> 
> ....
> 
> Maybe his name shoulda been 'Punching Bag' ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	38. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None  
> Continuity: Transformers Prime, Post-Predacons  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Knock Out, Ratchet, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Ultra Magnus

It had been half a vorn since Optimus Prime had thrown himself into the Well of Allsparks to finish the restarting of the world, and already the seeds of unrest were firmly planted amoung those resettling. 

Many times, Decepticons would land and fight before any sort of surrender, refusing to believe the war was any kind of over. The neutrals were almost as bad, voicing distaste and distrust for Ultra Magnus' de facto leadership. They'd race off into the uninhabited wilds of Cybertron only be be back suddenly just a couple of solar cycles later, having been spooked by predacon sightings into staying close to those who had any idea how to fend the beasts off.

Many returning Decepticons who would rather attempt to fend for themselves in the wilds, were not so lucky. 

The newsparks that had landed thus far had luckily kept close enough to the settlement that retrieving them wasn't too much of a problem. Sometimes, finding the little buggers was. 

That was where Jazz came into this strange post-war world. 

Head of Special Operations, an officer that used to answer to the Prime himself was for all intents and purposes a glorified sparkling-sitter. Until the planet stopped forging sparklings itself, he would be shoving himself into nooks and crannies that the new, nearly helpless Cybertronians were finding. 

His latest assignment was in the ruins of Vos. Ratchet and Knock Out had taken turns swearing roundly into the comm as the spark energy they were tracking spiraled farther and farther away from their location, but Jazz had assured them he could follow with no issue. He was topped up and charged enough to go for a few days if he needed to. Before he was out of communication range, he told the pair to tell his conjunx that he'd be home late for dinner. It earned a snort out of Knock Out at least. 

Jazz recognized the unmistakable shells of the once breathtaking towers when they peeked up over the horizon and gunned his engines. If the spark energy made it past the ruins there was a real chance he wouldn't be able to get to the new mech that would form before something else did. At least the newspark would be big enough to find- the medics had said that the amount of energy the high flying spark was giving off would assure that. 

The bright energy began to descend just as Jazz hit the outskirts of the city proper. He switched to root mode and activated his grapplers. He hadn't actually witnessed a planet-led forging before and he figured that if he got to the projected landing point before the spark energy did, that would give them all that much more time to get the slag out of the ruins and back to civilization. 

It was dusk when he was on a ledge overlooking a relatively open area when the final approach spiraling occurred, taking a video capture. The impact was accompanied with a flash of bright light and a small shockwave of quickly dispersing energy, but Jazz was far enough back not to be effected by the radiation let off from the burst. He made his way down to the small crater that had formed as quickly as he could. Peeking in over the edge, he had come just in time to watch the spark - correction -  _sparks_  disappear into brand new and white-hot frames. 

Jazz queued a message to send back to head quarters once they were back in communication range that they would be in need to two people for sparkling checks instead of one. 

As the frames cooled enough for their types to be identifiable, however, it felt as though someone had left a sizable stone in the depth of Jazz's fuel tank. The tiny chassis were definitely seeker in make, an older style he hadn't seen in quite a while. Almost in afterthought, he turned on his headlights as the light from the forging was dying off and his vents nearly stalled out. 

While the frames were nearly identical in type, one of the seekerlings was markedly bigger, heavier than the other. There was an obvious shimmer of blue color fading in even before the frame was completely cool. Jazz knew exactly what he'd see directing his light to the smaller frame, but the black and purple still put him on some unidentifiable edge. 

He had to pull back from the crater and remind himself that no matter how strongly the pair looked it, no matter that they were born together, and no matter how badly the blades concealed in his forearms itched - these sparklings were not  _them_  anymore. It may be their sparks, but it wasn't  _them_. Infanticide obviously wasn't an option, especially at their numbers. 

A soft series of inquiring peeps startled Jazz out of his thoughts, and he peeked back over the edge of the shallow crater. One set of round red optics peered back at him, only to squint as he directed his light down to see again. It was Skyw- the black sparkling that had awakened first, and Jazz carefully lowered himself down next to the pair. 

He was barely within full reach when the sparkling clung to him, all peeping and big red cyberpup optics. Jazz had half a mind to pry the little thing off when he stopped himself. He wouldn't do anything of the sort to any other newsparks demanding attention. Resolute, he held the seeker tightly to his side as he scooped the other one up. Using his grappling hooks all the way back to a drivable surface was out of the question now. If those in charge had any idea that he'd be coming back with more cargo than anticipated, he would never have been set out alone - SpecOps or not. 

Late for dinner just became a gross understatement. Night had well and truly set in, and they'd all be lucky if he could get back to base before the night following. The black seeker seemed to have no such concern, his peeping had ceased and he was happily rubbing his faceplate everywhere he could reach on Jazz's chassis. He was all unbridled and unshielded energy and field that felt vaugely familiar in an unsettling way, and the other sparkling was no different even in recharge. 

It took Jazz most of the night to hit the outskirts of Vos, and that was with stopping to feed the little scraplets little bits of the jellied survival-grade energon he kept in his subspace. 

Thundercr- The blue sparkling was far quieter and less affectionate than his counterpart when he awoke, but clung on none-the-less tightly to Jazz's side. The larger sparkling being awake had made navigation slightly easier, thankfully. He could navigate around huge bits of debris with both sparklings clamped to one side with a quickness, but that came with the unfortunate side-effect of the little ones letting go of him completely in an attempt to make the experience of what must have felt like flying better. It had almost given Jazz a spark attack, and so he stuck to the ground unless absolutely necessary. 

Finally folding down around the sparklings to his wheels afforded Jazz a feeling beyond relief. He extended his EM field to reassure the startled seekers and made sure the pair was secure before taking off back across the empty land. A little music from his cab's speakers soon lulled the two back into recharge. 

 Coming back into comms range found a derth of messages assaulting Jazz's message center. Most were from Ratchet and Knock Out, a few were from Prowl, and a scant couple were from Ultra Magnus himself. Jazz databurst a package containing his status and his video captures from the night prior to the proper outlets and gunned his engines. Even if his hunch came up empty, just their appearances would make the pair likely targets for Autobots with deeper grudges to hold than he had. He kept his correspondences short, wanting to focus as much attention as he could on the return trip.

 

Pushing his engine as hard as he did had Jazz arriving at HQ mid-afternoon. The seekerlings began peeping excitedly within him when they passed by other mecha, who often paused to wave at Jazz's passing. Jazz would flash his lights in turn, glad that his window tint was dark enough to conceal his cargo. He pinged ahead to alert the medics of his arrival and proceeded on as quickly as he could. 

Coming out of the medbay after having delivered his cargo, Jazz encountered Ultra Magnus. It wasn't unexpected - temporary leader or not, Jazz still needed a handler. He had run over his projected time limit for the mission and brought back two sparklings that nearly seemed like clones of two now finally confirmed for dead Decepticon officers. 

Debriefing was going to suck slag. 

Debriefing didn't suck nearly as much slag as coming out of it did, as his comm suite lit up with priority messages to return to Ratchet and Knock Out immediately with no further explanation. He pouted for just a moment as he took off for medical again, just having had entertained thoughts of having his wicked way with his mate's doorwings before a well-deserved recharge. 

The door to Medical was barely open before Jazz was dodging things. Little round projectiles rained down one after the other from the rafters, accompanied by angry high-pitched chittering and shrieking. Ratchet deflected each one using a dented tray as a shield, and it was only after Jazz was out of the line of fire and deflection that he realized it was the black seekerling that was the assailant. 

"Jazz, over here." Jazz's attention snapped sideways at the pained sound of Knock Out's voice, and coming around revealed the ex-Decepticon standing with his arm outstretched. Attached to that arm was the blue seekerling by tiny teeth and claws, and by the way his frame was held it was apparent he'd been there for a while. "A little help please?" Jazz came closer and had a moment's trepidation as the seeker's optics darted to him. Just moment's later his little blue helm popped up off Knock Out's arm, and his claws followed. Faceplates smeared with fresh blue energon, the stoic little mech reached his arms up towards Jazz insisten-tly.

 Knock Out pulled away quickly and peeled off to treat his injuries as soon as he could, leaving Jazz with the seeker. The infant's expressions shifted farther and farther into a frown the longer he was made to wait and so it was in short order that Jazz relented. He'd had worse things than another mech's energon on him after all. Back in the main part of the medbay, the last of the projectiles had been thrown. The saboteur made his way to Ratchet's side while deftly avoiding the ball bearings spread about the floor, and followed his gaze to where the sparkling sat.  The little one's entire demeanor changed at the sight of Jazz; instantly angry chitters changed to happy peeps. 

"Do I want to know how he go-" 

"He  _teleported_  up there. Soon after you left and it wasn't apparent you were playing an elaborate game of hide and seek." Ratchet was using the 'I'm at the very edge of my patience for dealing with this slag' voice, and it spurred Jazz into being as helpful as possible. 

He tried waving at the sparkling. The sparkling waved back. 

Jazz motioned to the larger seeker, and how the little blue mech was happily situated in his arms. The black sparkling's optics blew huge, and he was soon gone in a puff of purple only to reappear right directly in front of all of them. Jazz managed to catch the little troublemaker before gravity could do it's damage, the next moment found the seeker back at his face-rubbing tricks. Ratchet wasted no time with the opportunity at hand; the little seeker didn't even notice when he jacked into his medical port.

The blue seeker was visibly hesitant at the sight of the jack, but a few soft crooning words from Jazz kept his behavior in line while Ratchet ran his diagnostic. Knock Out reappeared as Ratchet pulled back, new patchwork on his arm shiny silver and obvious. "Did you confirm it?" He asked wryly, pointedly ignoring the suspicious looks the blue seeker gave him. 

Ratchet heaved out an ex-vent and murmured something about Primus having a sense of humor before speaking up. "I did, slag it all. On both accounts. Their spark signatures are a near match for.... er, the discussed Decepticon officers, but enough is different that there would be no way to 'confirm, confirm'." He made air quotes as he spoke. "Also, yes, according to the  _painfully_   _rudimentary_  seeker schematics I have, I can _reliably_  confirm that both of these scraplets are well and truly imprinted on Jazz in only a way a flier can. Once we salvage the full schematic from the archives, I can be sure we can take care of their medical needs adequately."

 Knock Out let out a soft, sharp chuckle before turning his attention to Jazz. "Then I suppose congratulations are in order for you and Prowl. Welcome to parenthood." 

 Jazz returned Knock Out's smirk with a grim one of his own. "I suspected something was up when this'n let go of you so easily." He shrugged the arm that held the blue seeker, moving him up and down for a moment. "Let's hope Prowler don't take this too badly. Anything I need to know about these two before you cut us loose?" Jazz took the stretch in assuming, but from the ball bearings scattered about, he guessed the medics would be happier if the three of them  _weren't_  under pede. 

 "Nothing for now." Ratchet replied "You'll be first on comm if something comes up. Also, you're on medical leave as of now, until you can get your little monsters to heel." He paused for just a moment.  "Now, if you would  _excuse me_ , I appear to have quite a bit of cleaning to do." Jazz didn't need to be told twice, and he was quick to vacate the Chief Medical Officer's domain. 

 

 Prowl... did not take the news well, but fell into some sort of resigned acceptance when it was apparent that Jazz had similar feelings about suddenly gaining custody of the two infants. Once the pair had gotten the sparklings (and Jazz) thoroughly cleaned, they sat down to discuss. Prowl was of a mind that they come up with designations for the pair, while Jazz wanted to consider just giving the sparklings the names they had before.  

 "Jazz, those names will undoubtedly single them out and make them targets for future ridicule and abuse. It's not responsible, kind, nor is it logical as the adoptive creators of these children to return those designations to them." 

 A huffy ex-vent lead Jazz's argument. "C'mon Prowler, there aint an Autobot soldier alive t'day that's gonna be unable to recognize these two. Not unless we give these two a full repaint and get this'un to stop teleporting." Jazz laid a hand on the black seeker's helm, and his hand was quickly taken hostage in turn for inspection by the little mech. "And if lil'Blue's armor is anything to go by now, I'd wager good cred that he can do what his previous self could too." 

 Prowl frowned, but his overall expression seemed contemplative. His visor brightened as he surveyed the two little ones, and the larger of the two stared right back at him. "I think a repaint could be doable." He nodded slowly, tapping at his chin in thought. "The CNA would be there still, of course, but a permanent repaint paired with the new designations would do wonders for public relations." Jazz sighed, he should have figured that Prowl would find some way to both compromise  _and_  be right. 

  

After a long discussion that was interrupted by putting the sparkings down for the night, Prowl and Jazz came to a consensus. It wasn't as if the two of them didn't  _want_  to have little ones of their own, but the previous agreement was that they'd wait a few vorns for the reconstruction to be farther along before considering a sparking. They'd just have to re-prioritize now. 

 In the end, only the officers and and those in medical had the explicit knowledge of the seekers' identities. Anyone suspicious outside the officer cadre didn't deign to speak up, though - it wasn't as if there was anything that could be done that wouldn't result in life-changing consequences for those that entertained the thought. Every spark may be precious, but that same spark could still be precious in a long period of spark confinement too. 

 Gateway was painted a brilliant aqua and trimmed around his wings and silver helm with royal purple stripes. There had been some anxiety when he first teleported in front of someone who didn't  _know_ , but the onlooker had just laughed and commented that he would have been better suited to the name 'Spacebridge'. 

 Supersonic's name was a little harder to explain in comparison to his brother's, especially with his very obviously thicker armor. His parents suffered the obligatory 'lead balloon' jokes until the novelty of the fliers wore off and his black, white and grey paint job earned him many a compliment in comparison to his parents'. His attitude gained him the nickname of 'Little Prowl' among the officers, and his now very attached namesake would state that it was quite the compliment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by _far_ the longest prompt of all of them. I really didn't mean to make it so long, but here we go. [This](http://tfwiki.net/mediawiki/images2/7/72/ProwlTFU.JPG) is the Prowl design I had in mind for this prompt. :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	39. Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Relationships: TFOC/TFOC/TFOC  
> Warnings: Latent Spec-ops sneakery that results in the death of hundreds, mindbreak, vomit  
> Continuity: IDW/G1, Any  
> Characters: TFOCs

_>....._

_>........_

_>.....Good morning, Autobot Lacuna. This is your wake up call._

_> It's time to come home._

_> Take all the information you possibly can before you blow the joint._

_> Don't leave survivors._   


  
_> Handler and debriefing will be waiting for you on Cybertron._   


Lacuna's optic shutters opened with a snap, and he assessed his situation.

Two potential bogeys, one on either side of him, both in deep recharge. Some small part of him now locked away wanted to hesitate, and that hesitation turned to a silent anguish as Lacuna activated his wrist blades and plunged them into the spark-casings to either side.

The bodies convulsed and went still.

He extracted himself from between the cooling corpses and set to the task of rummaging through their subspaces. He drew the names and ranks from the locked down potion of his processors, pleased to find he had just killed two of the officer staff for this place.

It'd make the rest of his job easier. Once he got the subspaces cleared out, he slipped his way to the terminal in the room.

It had been left logged in.

Lacuna was jacked hacked in to the system in a microklik, the next moment had him downloading the memory of the base- no- it was a starship- a decent sized one.

Armed freight.

Maintenance lacking.

561 Decepticons (two deceased)

One Autobot.

Lacuna activated one shuttle, transferred command control to it and disengaged from the terminal.

Then, he made his way into the washrack. It wouldn't do to make his way through the ship covered in energon and mech fluids and... other such things. Lacuna gave his frame a disgusted look as he activated the solvent show. Automatic protocol told him for the first time that what he needed to do under cover was no reflection on his status as a good agent, a good soldier.

He was clean quickly and left the habsuite without another look at the greying bodies.

No one stopped him on his way to the unmanned shuttlebay. A few nodded to him, called him a name that didn't register to his brain module. He fell back on his cover's muscle memory and waved back, smiled behind a flat, functional faceplate.

The shuttle was waiting for him, and he opened up the bay door after sealing himself in. At the terminal, he proceeded to scramble the ship's communications before he locked down each sector- save weapons.

Those, he primed to fire- with the ship as a target.

And then, he was off. When he was far off enough to be out of blast range, the cacophony began. Alerts blared over the ship's systems, but Lacuna watched with passive indifference as missiles fired and turned back to rain back down on the ship, over and over. It was the first of two warheads that broke the ship apart, and her sister that disintegrated most of the pieces.

He set course for Cybertron and maxed out the burn of the engines before he took to one of the berths and let recharge take him.

* * *

Dynamo thrashed, yelped, and fell from his berth onto the floor. Images of a terrible recharge nightmare more horrible than he could've ever dreamed before lingered at the front of his mind, images of his arms elbow deep in the chests of Howler and Typhoon faded as he huddled in on himself and tried to resist the shaking of his plating.

It was very suddenly that he realized he was not in his suite, nor the suite of his lovers.

 It all came rushing back, and Dynamo(Lacuna) ripped his face plate off to purge his last meal on the floor. Pain shot through Lacuna's (Dynamo's) helm and spark, and he pulled himself up and into the tiny washrack the ship provided him. Looking at his visored face in the mirror threatened to bring on another purge, he ripped the visor from it's housing in his helm and threw it to the side.

It helped immensely, that the mech didn't recognize the reflection that stared back at him with an expression as stricken as he felt, even as energon trickled down his face. The newly activated coding clicked back into place as his distress grew, and displayed for him a tiny readout amalgamated from his main processor and a partition he was having increasing trouble getting into as he woke and booted further.

>Designation: Lacuna  
>>Cover Alias: Dynamo  
>Function: Autobot late activation saboteur  
>>Cover Function: engineer, ground artillery repair

**> >Current Objective: Report to Handler**

Lacuna let out a soft sob as the sensation of dissociation faded and painful realization slotted into place.

For his entire function _, millennia of life,_ Lacuna had thought himself a loyal Decepticon, brought online to help change the tide of the relatively small battle he had started his life in. As far as he knew, he had been defrosted and thrust up next to a smoking plasma canon with tools in hand and brand new schematic coding.

The Decepticons had won that battle.

The truth rang and pulsed through his processor over and over again, as the sham of his life weighed heavier on his spark. He had killed his courtmates, with whom he shared what he was convinced just the day before was a slowly fledgling love.

His coding purred at how well he did. And, he was away, his death as a Decepticon was assured.

He mourned that he'd never see his- never see Dynamo's Amica again.

Dynamo was dead with the rest of the crew of his post, and his Amica Endura would mourn his loss all while Lacuna would stand by and keep on existing.

The rest of the ride back to Cybertron was as despairingly agonizing as it was lonely with only his scrambled meta for company, trying to get around the fact that someone on the side of the enemy- no, on _his_ side, he was one of _them_ \- had put top-notch saboteur's programming into a bot who had developed a love of tinkering and an aversion to close combat fighting. 

His coding reminded him again that he did well, told him his cover was done. His handler would help defrag his troubled mind. That didn't stop him from using one of those newly discovered wrist blades to carve the Decepticon brand from his chassis. His mind flipped between not deserving it and it not belonging to him as his chestplates throbbed in pain from his cutting. He stored the insignia in his subspace.

* * *

Lacuna came to Cybertron on the same day as another larger ship, and so he rode down in it's wake before wiping the shuttle's memory and parking in behind it. 

Disembarking found him at the business end of a spun-up blaster."Nice and easy there, ' _Con_ ,"

Lacuna grimaced, put his hands in the air. They wouldn't find any weapons on him, not unless they knew where to look. 

"'M not a Con." He replied and it hurt to say. "I'm an Autobot, Special Operations, I need to report in." His coding didn't like that he shared that, but the mech with the gun lowered it and got on his comms after fixing him with an odd look. 

"Hey, it's me, we've got another one of those MTO's down here." Lacuna couldn't help the flare of his armor at the bluntness of the mech's affect about such a sensitive topic, but he didn't seem to notice. 

"You- follow me." The mech turned his back on him and a tiny prickle instantly lit in Lacuna's wrists. With such sloppy defense, it would be a simple task to behead the mech if the situation got messy.

For now- he followed into the city.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good alternate title for this one would have been 'thumbscrews'

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Ravages of Remembering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689542) by [agatharights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agatharights/pseuds/agatharights)




End file.
